Broken Antler Fen i am a fallen angel

trying to understand what ibis' prolonged disappearance ...what death meant was a struggle. roswell can't quite grasp that death is for ever and his mother would never return. even so, he's slowly grown accustomed to her absence, though he still misses her with a pang of longing.

it's the desire for fresh air that pushes roswell out of the den, breaking free from the gaggle of girls he lives with ( minus eljay ) and seeks the warmth of the early morning sunshine. it warms along his spine and the buttery golden rays guide his path through the plush emerald grasses. his destination was unknown but at this point he was just wandering, seeing what lay beyond the small world of the den he called home.

She didn't want to smother any of them, especially Ibis' slightly older ones, but when Roswell escaped outside Maia quietly followed. She didn't even know if they were old enough, but as she watched him wander, she felt like it couldn't hurt. Not so long as they kept an eye out.

As he moved farther, however, she made small progress behind and smiled. When she was here, I introduced your big sister to the trolls in the trees. Have you met any of them? She didn't know why the memory suddenly stuck out to her, but she was struck by his similarity to Lilitu.

at the sound of approaching footfalls, heavy and telltale of the fact that an adult was hot on his heels, roswell stopped to peer over his shoulder. for a moment, his heart sunk in his chest; plunging deep that it was maia and not ibis trailing him. but of course, ibis was gone but roswell, still too young to grasp that death was concrete and that fairytales did not exist still held on blossoming hope that she would simply appear one day ...

as quickly as death had taken her.

it was only after that disappointment fades that worry begins to nag at the back of his mind as he considers that venturing out on his own might give rise to chiding.

but he couldn't help himself!

the outside world was so beautiful and magical and he wanted to capture it for himself. to be both apart and master of it.

however, maia did not chide him and slowly the tension in his shoulders melts and his tail beats out a small, hopeful rhythm against the closest bush; sending leaves rattling together and falling to the earthen floor.

trolls? immediately, whatever worry roswell'd had was chased away at maia's question. whad um troll looks like? roswell asks with hushed awe, transitioning gaze flicking this way and that as if anticipating something to jump out at him ...even without knowing what exactly he was looking for.

He tended in response to her and she almost took it badly. Not in a "it's his fault" way, of course, but in a "you shouldn't have" way. It was so, so, so hard not to put too much pressure on herself for how they saw her.

Staying put seemed to help, thankfully. Maia stopped the instant she saw him react to her following and froze. She kept that distance even when he wagged his tail and asked.

They hide too well for that, in the trees. They are super shy but also really friendly. That's why I will sing to them. Your big sister helped me sing to them once, and taught me a new song. She remembered the words perfectly. Do you want to hear?

roswell peers around again, hoping that he might find a face or some sort of strange colored eyes peering at him in the lush greenery around them ...but those pesky trolls indeed do hide too well. disappointment threatens to flood roswell but his attention is once more snagged by maia when she tells him that she sings to them.

curiously, his head tilts as he regards her.

trolls like the songs? roswell inquires; contemplating.

he already knows his answer before it bursts from his lips with unbridled puppy energy; like if he holds it in he might erupt with the force of it, yes! and then quiet, as if sharing a secret with her asks, song is magic?

They do. Most everyone does, I think. Her tail waved. They're a special magic. They can make you feel happy. Or sad, but this wasn't that kind of song.

Maia wished Lilitu hadn't left and could be here to teach her little brother this song herself. Maybe someday she'd come back and he could sing it to her.

"Little froggy, little froggy
Come and play, come and play
Where are you hiding?
Where are you hopping?
Come and stay, come and stay."

She sang it a little slower than Lilitu had, but made a show of singing to the trees closest to them.

roswell considers her words when she mentions that trolls like songs and that most everyone does. oh, he breathes, trusting that she's right even if he isn't sure if he's ever heard a 'song' before. i wikes magic! it does not feel like the right way to describe how he feels about it — not even close — but with his limited vocabulary it was the best roswell could do.

a hush settles over him and he swears he can feel it settle over the area around them. even the birds and the wind rustling through the leaves stilled to hear her song. when she is finished, roswell's tail thumbs against the ground.

das a nice song. he says. you know ano-ver one?

Oh!? She responded, most of her surprise exaggerated in response to his pronouncement, but a bit of it genuinely happy. Maia was slowly getting to know her nieces and nephews and every thing they shared in common made her feel a little better about not messing all of this up. There were a lot of things she was going to be awful at but magic? Magic she could do.

I know a few! But I'm no Twig Silversong. She answered, summoning the name out of absolutely nowhere. If he liked songs and magic then she was absolutely going to create a hero who could deliver both. Some say he sang so beautifully he could tame the meanest creatures. He traveled near and far collecting songs and performing heroic deeds. All without ever having to fight anyone. She leaned down and ruffled his fur with her nose lightly. If you wanted to hear a story, I could tell you?

yeah! roswell places a large amount of emphasis on his response — encouraged by the exaggeration of maia's own surprise. if he would've had such an interest had ibis still been alive ...well, that was another matter entirely. he likes how the unrivaled belief if something infinitely powerful and that he could harness it ...harbor some of that power within him wraps 'round him like a suit of armor — even if it's not quite that complex at the moment.

right now, he is so charmed by the prospect of magic and young enough that he'd likely believe anything anyone told him.

twig silversong ...the name rings no bells to roswell, but he cants his head to the side as he regards maia, and tries to conjure up some sort of mental image of this mysterious twig fellow.

wowee. roswell breathes, eyes growing 'round as saucers as he hangs on maia's every word with rapt attention that was quite surprising for one so young. yes, yes, yes! roswell crows as he prances around her, suddenly so full of sunlight and energy he felt like he could burst. storee of twig? he asks, hoping with bated breath that she would indeed tell him a story of this new hero twig silversong.

Okay!! Maia matched his enthusiasm easily, giving his head and side another affectionate nuzzle before she settled down a little more comfortably. Stories needed proper posture! And that posture was relaxation. She was grateful that, with everything going on, she could always give them this. And extremely thankful anytime they let her and honestly, truly seemed to be eager for it. She never wanted to take that for granted.

Once upon a time there was a young wolf named Twig Silversong! He was just nearly grown, a little older than you are now. Maia smiled, looking at Roswell. They were growing up so fast! And he loved to sing! Every day he would roam the forest of his home and learn songs from the birds that lived there. They taught him all sorts of things!! But as he got older, some of the best things they taught him were about beautiful places far away. Places he wanted to see.

Every story has a theme, and she wondered if it was smart, telling her children stories about heroes who left on grand adventures. The part of her that wanted them to have their own lives, just like she did, was always going to battle with the part that was just like Eljay used to be. The part that wanted to hold them close and keep them safe and never let them go. But in the end, she couldn't not tell the stories just because it scared her a little. She remembered loving ones just like this too much.

He learned, and he grew, and finally he was ready. So he left, but not without promising to come back and share all of the new songs he would learn.

He traveled for days before he finally met anyone!! But finally he arrived at a giant waterfall, set into the side of a massive mountain. He'd never seen anything so big! He knew there had to be someone here, so he began to look around. He lost their trail near the base of the waterfall, but as he turned away, a voice came from behind the water.

'WHO'S THERE!?' It boomed! And as he turned around, guess what was there?

Every time she told a story like this, it was hard not to think of Osprey. She waited, hoping he would pick something to appear from behind the water. Whatever it was she would use and, if he liked it, she'd weave it to recur in other stories as well. It was one of her favorite things to do.

roswell leans into her affectionate nuzzles, relishing in them; craving them. they were not ibis' but they were warm and they let him know he was loved, regardless. roswell settles into a sphinx-like position to listen to the story, trying to calm the eagerness he feels bubbling in his chest. he listens to the tale she weaves with baited breath, of a grand adventure and of something booming at twig from behind a waterfall.

roswell draws in a breath, rapidly thinking of the things he knew and what could possibly boom when it spoke. uhm, he draws in a stuttered breath and ends up blurting the first thing that came to his mind: a wabbit! though he isn't sure that something so small could 'boom' when it spoke but it was what he'd blurted and thus what he was going with.

the two kept the story going for a while but after some time, roswell grew tired as his energy waned and opted to curl up and take a nap after a reluctant trudge home.

edited in a conclusion for archival & trade purposes. <3

Maia laughed, surprised both by his answer and by her own reaction to it.  It felt really, really good to laugh, and she smiled happily at him.  Right!  Twig couldn't believe it! He'd never met a rabbit with such a huge voice!

'How'd you do that?' Twig asked. The rabbit was confused, because he thought that the wolf would be frightened away. Most wolves will eat a rabbit on sight, after all. But this wolf seemed like he was neither of those, and instead wanted to talk.

'GO AWAY OR I WILL DEVOUR YOU!' Maia tried to make the voice as rabbit like as she could, and nearly broke into giggles as she did. Twig was laughing now, because he knew the rabbit couldn't hurt him. He had no reason to hunt this rabbit right now. So he came closer to the cave and tried again.

'How do you sound like a waterfall guardian? Are you a spirit?' A rabbit who spoke couldn't really be anything else. And this one was so surprised to be recognized that he finally left his cave.

'I am. Who are you, wolf of many questions?' The rabbit asked. He was small even for a rabbit, and all white. 'Usually I do not speak to your kind.'

'I am Twig Silversong. And I am a traveler, looking for stories and songs to share.' Twig could hardly believe his luck. A spirit would have plenty of stories, and all of them had to be interesting! Maia gestures to emphasize, internally noting that this could really be a series. Rabbit spirit stories would be amazing, oh jeeze.

'Alright then, wolf. A trade. You give me a song, and if I like it, I will give you a story.' Twig agreed. And the song he sang, the rabbit liked so much, that they did not stop there. They spent days swapping stories and, by the end, had become good friends.

After the story's close, Maia answered any questions that Roswell had, spending the some time with him exploring and talking about Twig and fantastical creatures and whatever else came to mind. But as the afternoon grew long, they'd return, and she'd treasure the time while he napped next to her. She never felt closer to her own mother than when she shared stories like these with her own children and felt all that love that Osprey must have felt.