necrosaint | deer country: ic inbox.

[ Devyata has been trying eagerly to get to know Harrowhark's work and research and the schedules therein, and has just determined when she receives this note that she isn't going to. They don't make any sense, which she tells Iskierka all about as she puts bloodstones back in little boxes with labels she can't ~~yet~~ read. ]

Finally, that's—sorted—I hope—shall we?

[ Some people might find it odd to see an individual that looks almost exactly like Harrowhark Nonagesimus vibrate a little in anticipation. Devyata is managing to make it classy. Even if she's still doing it by the time she reaches her brother-Prince, and hopefully no one else who might laugh at her. ]

[Said brother-Prince is--fortunately, maybe--alone when they find him out in the woods, and quite easy to spot. Not for him Illarion's drab Hunter garb; Restoration's muted reds and high-violets stand out among the snow and leafless trees like a fallen piece of sunset.

Even so, he doesn't eclipse the strangeness of the little sapling he stands beside--a bone-white tree that, at second look, is made of actual living marrow-hearted bone.

Restoration tips his face up from inspecting this prodigy as his Omen and sister draw near, favoring both with a smile.]

One of the Moss King's gifts come unseasonably early, I believe. It wasn't here a week ago.

Oh.

[ Devyata unabashedly stares, wide-eyed, and hesitantly reaches out a finger. The little tree's life-force practically magnetizes her fingertips, and she's unable to resist touching a leaf. She's so gentle, though, it scarcely seems to notice and doesn't even move. ]

Very much a gift indeed. I will be sure Stasya does not bother it.

[ stasya would never bother a tree on purpose but she absolutely would sniff it too much and accidentally bend it a little. ]

[He laughs quietly at that; Stasya's enthusiasm is, as ever, a delight to be reminded of.

The little tree's leaves have their own pulse, discrete corpuscles moving visibly through their delicate veins.]

Does it seem to you more an animal or a plant? [he asks, with genuine curiosity.] I can't decide myself from its looks, [inside and outside, as a shrike perceived things,] alone.

I--would have asked you the same question.

[ She squints at it and squats down, considering the leaves much closer. Eyeing the sap-or-is-it-blood moving within. For those who can see feathers on her, which includes present company, they ruffle thoughtfully. ]

It is like those carnivorous plants, that are a little bit of *both*, except for how it ... does not seem carnivorous. All trees have hearts but this one is more--it has a soul, [ that last bit suddenly occurring to her. ]
Which may make it an animal. Or perhaps all trees have souls.

[ She is, after all, much younger and less experienced in the ways of the world. She is a sheltered child--who is actually an adult, but has long lived a sheltered childhood. ]

So the sparrows would say, [that all trees did have souls, and thus the elven taboo on cutting living wood.] Your sister-in-law would say that many trees might have spirits in them--though I haven't yet met a vila here.

[He hunkers down beside her, Iskierka dropping from off his shoulder to alight by the tree's base. She sticks her beak nearly into the soil to get a better look at the roots.]

I'm less decided. I haven't known a necromancer who could raise a slain tree. And--

[He pauses, tips his head; his own feathers ruffle with interest as he reaches into his gift.]

Ahh. It has a perfection, of a kind. More like an an animal, than a plant.

I don't think I've ever thought to try, but I'm also not certain I would know where to start with a tree ...

[ Stasya is going to help! She creeps close to Iskierka and paws at the dirt a little, making the beak to root space smaller--but carefully, so as Devyata does not scold her for damaging anything. Restoration's verdict makes the humanoid of the pair grin, a flash of slightly pointed wicked teeth that very nearly doesn't seem to belong on her. But she's not Harrowhark; it isn't totally alien. There are a few who have seen her grin. Her Prince is one of them. ]

Do tell all. And if it can understand us! What language would it use? Does your lady speak of the language of trees?

[ language might be a special interest of hers. ]

Nor would I have, before. [Before his own necromancy became something decidedly stranger, intertwined with another century's practice at mitigating and taming pillar corruption.

Now he could animate something in the semblance of a tree, he's sure. But it wouldn't be the same as bringing back a tree itself.] Though I don't doubt you could discover a way, if you wished to.

[And ah! That smile. (That smile on a face so like Harrowhark's--Illarion's memories lend weight and pathos to the sight.) That's more than worth time spent looking for oddities in the woods to bring her.

He has so much lost time to make up for.]

It's hazy yet, [he says, low and slow and thoughtful,] exactly what this little one is becoming. But that it may grow to something we could speak to...

[He tips his head, sightless eyes closed.

Iskierka burbles her thanks at Stasya, squinting at one thick root in particular, before turning her head to follow it with her gaze. It leads away from Ache, deeper into the woods...]

...It's more likely if we make a point of speaking to it often, ourselves.

[Then he flashes her an answering grin.] She does, now and again, though she claims only a little proficiency in it. I would dearly love to know what she's make of this one.

I will tell it stories. And perhaps if, when, we are gone ...

[ She's come to understand it's Harrowhark, not Devyata, who belongs in this place, and she is likely to go back from whence she came soon enough and leave Harrowhark behind. Or else that's the common assumption. ]

... the others might read it poetry, or sing a hymn, if stories are not so much to their liking. I'm sorry you can't bring it back for Esifr. [ that last part is tacked on as a quickly spoken addition, but the emotions are genuine as ever. it's very sad. ]

[When we are gone. It was a sad thought, that their sojourn here had a definite end to it; though there was equal grief in the notion they might permanently replace their echt-selves, who'd had their own reasons for emerging from the Sea.

Restoration gives Devyata's words the space and weight of silence they deserve.]

When we are gone, I think they will still take joy in this connection. [To each other, and to who the shed had made them.] I will write myself about it.

[His expression comes over more wistful then, at the mention of his wife--his Star.] Who knows that I won't get to tell her the story of it, at least--as if this has all been a strange dream. It will be enough, if I can.

[ It's something Harrow wouldn't do, then, that Devyata does next—reaches out for her Prince-brother's hand to squeeze it if he'll allow. ]

They are both receptive to letters, I think. And who knows, maybe we will get to stay after all. I think that'd be okay with me, but I would want her here for you, too.

[ She is definitely petting the tree, now, as Stasya wigglebutts eagerly at Iskierka. ]

[He does allow, and turns a smile on her once more as he returns the squeeze.]

It wouldn't be so bad a life, would it? There is much worth learning, and many here who could use help in becoming who they are meant to be.

I would miss her--and miss even more not knowing what she would make of the Waking World, and its gods-who-would-not-be-gods.

But, [brightly,] nothing is fixed. So we will witness what Generation has dreamed for us as it unfolds, hm?

[Iskierka chirps in excitement, ruffling up her wings at Stasya before bounding off down the root she'd been studying on all sixes. Is that a finger-bone poking up from the soil, off there in the distance?]

The other Illarion must miss us, too. His family.

[ Devyata has no idea that she doesn't exist to the other Illarion, and hopefully no one tells her, either. But certainly he must miss his wife and children. ]

Yet I don't think he's gone back to them, unless maybe he has, and we are always here forever now. Not yet our time to learn. Stasya--

[ -- stasya is not here, stasya has run off after iskierka and skidded to a stop in front of what might have been a bone, run in a tiny circle and started to try to dig it up. ]

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