» The Tree of Light

WAKER

Slowly, you turn back to Taivas. You just can't quite believe it, all of it—how winter tried to kill you mere weeks before, and now, it's like a blessing, something you desperately wish for in the too-hot daylight hours. You can't believe the power of the magic either, how it is capable of so wholly transforming this place. There's a beauty and grace in it, one you can't quite comprehend.

Pulsing shadows and neon eyes, shadows snapping at your heels, foreign stars in a foreign sky—and within the very same realm, such generosity, such kindness, such hope. You think back to Kisamoa, to the stark contrast between his appearance and his words. It's like the Rift is his body, Uwaritace in her winter glory his soul; you rather like thinking of it like that. Something beautiful within something hideous.

But nurturing your celebrity crush on the twisted creature can wait. You've realized that likely everyone has been given something, just that it's not all as obvious as the starry charms in your mane, or the scarves wrapped around necks. You're eager to find out what Taivas has received, and you start to take a step towards her when she speaks.

"They look nice," she says, and you stop dead in your tracks. This is the Taivas you remember from that night: her face calm and smooth and placid, but her eyes full of wonder. How easy it would be to miss if you didn't take the time to look. "Thank you," you answer kind of dumbly, knowing it is not by virtue of anything you've done, but still feeling the need to say something. Actually—you raise your head and look at the matron as she speaks again, before repeating the two words in her direction instead. "Thank you."

Then, you blink a little, and finally step a little closer. You never got a really good look at her; you were half-dead and it was dark, and later, when you saw her again, you were too enchanted by Kisamoa to soak up all the details. "What did they give you?" you ask, gently, your eyes finding the charm in her mane and you motion towards it with your muzzle, like a question. It's the only thing you can see that stands out from the multitude of beads, and you don't want her to think you're an inattentive jerk.