Noitcerru had watched its descent, trailing his eyes over the demise of the day as he had flown towards this place. Night fell in dribs and drabs in the Rift, almost as if wanting to take its inhabitants unawares - and then falling suddenly, smothering everything beneath. The land below was shrouded in mist, veiling the towering thing in a duvet of dove-grey, of beclouded ivory in some places and patchy eigengrau in others. The only thing to shoot through those mists were sharp slivers of rain, almost diagonal to the sky and slating down one after the other after the other, the droplets shimmering like arrow-tips as they fired towards the ground.
Rain was pouring over him, too, suspended as he was above most of the sliver tendrils of the mist. There was no cover up here, but when the alternative was to be snared in by trees and forests the birdman knew what he preferred. He coursed in circles, large figure of eights, infinity loops, the odd course leading straight and then curling into spirals and whirls. The sheen of rain falling over the land below like a curtain - a silver sheen cutting it off from the outside world. But he had found something below; something dark, like a spindly tower reaching out from the fog. He would have almost thought it to be a tree but it was surely too massive. The stallion swerved and circled, leaning into the currents - but no angle revealed its secrets, no gap in the mist revealed itself. His feathers ruffled with a light breeze, a smile snapping across his face. He knew what that meant.
He went as low as he dared, but lowering himself through the mist was like wading blind. Even his wings felt heavier, as if shifting through something almost like water. Each beat was loud in the sudden silence - painfully loud, too loud against a cold absence of background noise to mask his approach. Noitcerru's breaths were cloudy in the gloom. He was rendered slow and loud and blind, and already he was painfully aware of that. But the prickle of unease that should've rattled down his spine at the thought of being discovered here by any of the hoofed and landed horses didn't come, only the rush of risk-taking. And after a moment he saw why.
It was a tree, as round as it was tall with branches reaching out in all directions. But there were no leaves bright with the vitality that Drench usually brought to the other plants - its limbs were bare. He leant in towards it, his nostrils flaring. What happened here? He didn't have to ask. The Rift's dangerous forces had torn and ripped at this tree like it had any living being. But not...quite. No. There was something still lingering here, live and almost breathing and peaceful, and beautiful in its destruction. His eyes narrowed - not with suspicion but with intrigue. As he went closer to the tree his hooves scraped against one of the lower branches, kicking ash down to the ground below.
It's always raining. Of course, the current season calls for it. Still though, she would rather the water suspend her in faux ecstasy then sting against her back. Today was especially wet, perhaps because of the region that she trods through. She hasn't been here before, which is an odd statement itself. Her whole life has been filled with wandering days through the foliage of the Rift. Maybe she has, and the destructive powers of the strange energy that she feels has twisted and ruined yet another pleasant place so much it is unreconizable. Mist clung to every surface, creating shadows and silhouettes that jump at her. Every once in a while, a gasp could be heard from her throat, a startled noise as she spooks at the deception of shadow play. Each passing moment has her more on edge. Coming here was an awful idea.
Still, she plowed through the mud that dirtied her usually shining coat. Even the perpetual glow from her orbs was difficult to see. Her eyes squinted to see through the fog, catching glimpses of a lone tree off in the distance. Perhaps she can find shelter under its branches. Her sluggish walk extended into a trot as she pushed her way through the mud. It seemed like forever for the mare to reach the trunk of the desecrated tree and as she slowed and touched the scorched bark with her muzzle, she remembered it's name. Uwaritace, the mother tree. Tears bloomed along her waterline as she envisioned her as she once was. A magnificent and elegant feature to an otherwise dark world. She was the peace, the silence of meditation.
'I'm sorry...' She prayed to Uwaritace, her eyes closed and her cheek laid against the ashy bark, unaware of the creature that hovered above. A sprinkle of ash and bark landed on her spine, and she quickly looked up. He is an odd looking stallion, resembling a bird more so then equine. Her head tilted, a curious look upon her face. "Hey!" She called out, backing up a step to bring the stallion in better view. "What are you doing?"
Uwaritace. His nostrils flared as he sniffed the tree, nosing over it. The sooty, smokey smell of ash was inescapable. It clung to the tree like a fungus, and in his mind's eye he could almost see it growing on the tree exactly like one, like something parasitic knotting itself over the bark and slowly suffocating the living organism beneath. That wasn't too far from what happened, he imagined. It was odd to smell fire here, when the land was so wet and the Rift was deep in the Drench season. The smell of fire was still strong despite the rain, much to his surprise. Wouldn't the rain wash it away - and wash away the ash, too, every sign that anything had ever happened here? But instead it stayed, contrary to belief, just as strong as ever. Noitcerru moved closer, one hoof loosely scraping some of the bark. It was almost as foul-smelling as the day the fire had taken place...
It was to be expected of the Rift; Noitcerru had lived here all of his life, and knew nothing of what a normal environment should look like, what a land free of malicious impulses and rotting decay should behave like and feel like. He felt a snatch of that during his visit to Helovia, as short lived as that had been, but the particulars had long since faded from his memory. There were many trees in the Rift, most of them burnt out like this in places. And that was not unusual; he didn't balk at the casual death of the Rift. Trees were not his to own, anyway; they were a part of the land, and Noitcerru cared little for them. But the fact it had a name struck even him as odd. Uwaritace. How did he know that? He snorted, ash scurrying up the bark as he exhaled. Something was different about this tree. He cared about this tree.
A cry erupted the birdman's train of thought. He recoiled from the tree, his wings narrowly missing some of the larger branches as he quickly backed out of the intimacy of the boughs with his full span outstretched. He backed away as quickly as he could, his head moving in tight, sharp little turns to look around, to see where the noise was coming from. The crest of red feathers striking a trail down his face like a blaze suddenly raised in alarm, like a trail of blood. In his urgency one of his legs dashed against a branch and he winced as he drew away, free of the tree. Its branches had been welcoming in a way he hadn't understood but now it was restrictive against an unknown foe. Once he was at a safe distance away from the tree he looked down - only to find someone there looking up at him.
The stallion stared at her, for a moment absolutely still. If he stayed still, maybe she would go away - the birds did that, so why shouldn't he? But her words echoed in his mind and he knew she could see him, even in the mist. The crest between his eyes and falling down to his nose slowly lowered to lie flat.
"What am I doing? He looked at her as if it was the most natural thing in the world. If anything he looked down as if seeing someone on the ground was the odd thing; he was momentarily, as he was always, surprised that some horses travelled so. His unique twist of diction and accent carried despite the distance between them, laughter erupting from him like the sharp caws of crows. "What are you doing, Muddy Mare?" The alliteration was pleasing. Muddy she certainly was; he could tell from up here. There was some satirical humour in his tone, but something curious, too, as he looked down at her, almost looking twice. She looked like she was part of Drench itself, and the mud didn't help with that image - but with spines erupting from her at various points. It was these in part, but mostly the lights coming off them, that grabbed his attention. It took even his keen eyesight a moment to recognise them for what they were - orbs, hanging from the spines. As they moved with her his gaze followed, as glassy as their surface.
The hoofed. They came in so many...colours.
He lowered himself, but didn't come down to her level. That would be too dangerous, and there was a wily look in his eyes that overtook the curiosity; he hovered, a little further down than before but not by much. But he cocked his head at her, mirroring her gesture almost exactly. How did these hoofed act? Riftian. Riftian hoofed. If that meant anything to Noitcerru it didn't show on his face. A hoofed was a hoofed, a landlocked a landlocked, a flightless a flightless. Did it matter where they came from? "What are you doing? What are you doing?" He was almost like a parrot - but with the sharp head-turns of a goshawk. The feathers that covered his body instead of a coat prickled, rain washing down his hairless neck. "Here for the tree? Uwaritace? Uwaritace?"
Uwaritace
