Oberon & Titania

"Arthur, I'll be back in a moment," Ara called as she abandoned her classmate by the fire. Thus far, their Fae hunting efforts had been in vain. No pixies flitted in betwixt the sparks and no dryads had peered from the bushes. Dandelion tufts had not revealed beady black eyes and dragonflies had zipped by with standard straight bodies and buggy orbs for eyes.

It was rather demoralizing, really.

Stepping several feet away from the blaze of the bonfire, Ara sighed. Her right side felt raw from the heat that had scalded her sensitive skin. It wasn't Arthur's fault that the Samhain meal was near the roaring blaze. Their efforts to rest and regroup had only drained her more, and now she sought refuge in the dark shadows.

If only she really did glow. Although the moonlight cast a halo around the snow-white maiden, she had to wait for her eyes to adjust before she could see much else. Squeezing her eyes shut, she tried to blink away the sun spots from the roaring festivities. When at last they faded, Ara glanced up at the moon.

"Hi there," she murmured softly, a fondness in her voice. Above her head, the leaves rustled as a stray breeze blew by.

Having the idea to get to a spot where she could see the moon clearly (for an uninterrupted conversation of course), Ara began to move forward - only to stop and hiss in pain as her paw was pierced by an unsuspecting thorn. The metallic scent of blood oozed into the air as she flinched back and stared down at her paw, gingerly twisting it to the left and right for a better view.


@Graeme

code + art by claerie

The sharp ache that draws a jagged line of pain across Graeme's shoulder is nearly enough to distract him from the quiet swell of pride that warms the pit of his belly. He watches the other wolves enjoy the bonfire and the feast, with a particularly keen eye on those who chose the elk for their nightly fare. That was his accomplishment, after all, and They had certainly chosen to bless him during the effort. Despite his youth, he's gotten away with only a shallow gouge. He wonders how he might pay for it later; They were always tricky, constantly giving and taking, after all.

Maybe his father would be proud of him, too.

With a grimace and a sigh, he rises from his cozy spot and gathers up the small square of dried deer hide tucked beneath his front paws. There's a smear of herbal salve held at its center, courtesy of one of his clan's healers in order to ease the pain of his wound. You deserve to enjoy the fruits of your labor without suffering, the elderly woman had told him fondly. He isn't sure who she is exactly - a distant cousin or great aunt, but still a Whelan, and therefor family. She'd warned him the salve wouldn't necessarily heal his flesh perfectly (a scar might be dashing, anyway, he thinks), but he's not terribly worried. He wanders into the woods, planning to take a moment away from prying eyes to apply the salve, but finds himself stumbling to a stop, confused, as an unfamiliar voice greets him: Hi there.

Graeme says nothing, searching the shadows frantically and finally spotting the moonlit silhouette of a young wolf just ahead. She moves towards him before appearing to stumble and hiss in a way that is quite familiar to him, especially in this moment. Pain. Has she hurt herself? "Ah, I'm sorry - excuse me - are you alright?" he asks, tripping over his words when he realizes his voice is muffled by the makeshift pouch in his jaws. Stepping out from the woods, he sets the salve down and casts a cautious glance over the strange pale girl, who appears both older and younger than himself. She's unlike anyone he's ever seen before.

"I, uh, I have some salve for wounds here, if you, ah - if you need it." He wants to scream at himself for being so terribly awkward. Wasn't he practically a hero now, if only for the night? He's not accustomed to speaking to anyone outside of his clan, and now, with this wolf who seems made of silver and rose quartz in front of him, he feels quite literally moonstruck.

table by claerie. art by amphi.

@Ara

"Ah, I'm sorry - excuse me - are you alright?"

Ara gasped in surprise, the sound a bit more like a squeak than anything more eloquent. Her reddish-blue eyes looked left than right before she caught a glimpse of movement and saw a wolf with something limp in his jaws. In the gloom, he was bathed in shades of gray rather than brown. Lack of sunlight gave his eyes a hazel hue rather than green.

The closer he got, the more his true colors came into focus. And his age did too. He was larger than her but there was a doe-like quality to his eyes that hinted to his youth. His concern helped as well and Ara found her surprise steadily melting away. An awkward smile appeared as the young woman tried to smooth down her ruffled fur. Alas, she could only tame a few strands.

"No I'm sorry," Ara offered back, embarrassment causing her cheeks to burn. "Just poked my paw, I should be fine," she assured. Though in reality, she wasn't sure. Infection set in quick when wounds were dirty and paws didn't touch the most sterile of places.

She sucked in a deep breath and suddenly realized that she wasn't the only one that was hurt.

Her eyes widened and she looked at the man (or boy?) more closely. "Are you hurt?"


@Graeme

code + art by claerie

He hadn't meant to startle her, but Graeme realizes very quickly that she is surprised by his presence, which meant she probably hadn't been talking to him at all in the first place. A rush of heat in his face makes his ears pin back slightly, although he tries his best not to look like a young pup who has been caught rolling in the mud by his mother.

Are you hurt? He tilts his head a little, wondering what she means before remembering that yes, he does have his own wound to care for. He feels disjointed and strange, as if all his thoughts have been scattered in a passing wind. He peers at her down his long, foxish nose, and blinks a few times, as if not quite believing what he is seeing. "Yes, a scratch from the elk. Might have been worse." His expression is more guarded now, having taken a breath or two in order to steady himself.

A thought passes through his mind, and his gaze brightens with a hidden smile; an expression that doesn't disturb the line of his dark lips, but still crinkles the edges of his eyes. "My name's Raven," he says, as if by impulse. It's something of a test, though perhaps not an obvious one.

table by claerie. art by amphi.

A moment of awkward silence crept in, looked around, and decided to wrap its icy claws around the scene. Ara met emerald eyes, anxiously searching his face for signs of strain. The urge to speak welled up within her chest, but her throat closed off when met with the pointed stare that sat just above an equally-pointy snout. When at last the young man seemed to register words, Ara almost breathed a sigh of relief. She had never been gifted socially. Although not a pariah, she had struggled to acquire the skill of effortlessly steering a conversation. She stumbled where others would jump and glide.

Scratch? Instinctively, Ara's nose wriggled as she drank in the scents of the forest, of fresh blood, of old wounds, and of the salve he carried. "There is not just my blood in this forest," she said gently. "An elk is a sacred animal, its blood is often paid with your own... and that makes it all the more important to heal lest you be cursed with infection by the Fae".

But perhaps he was protected from the Fae tonight? If he was one of the valiant warriors that had felled the beast for the feast, then perhaps he had been granted immunity. Then again, was it worth the risk?

Raven? A proper highlander name. "Raven but not Branwen?" Ara asked then before realizing that such a question might seem rude. "I'm sorry, my name is uh," she brushed her paw by her foreleg and a red stain was left. "Ara... Ara Snow". One of the bastard names of the Highlands was tacked onto the end of her name.


@Graeme

code + art by claerie

Graeme's head tilts slightly, letting her speak uninterrupted about the elk and the Fae. She isn't wrong, and he is both appreciative and slightly suspicious of her knowledge. The Whelans have deeps roots in their beliefs, and although he didn't quite get along with his father these days, he is a firm acolyte of the clan's ways. His own experience with finding his affinity cemented that long ago. "Is it safe to invoke Them?" he asks, almost muttering, casting an anxious glance into the shadows. Tonight, the veil between their worlds is thinner, and although he paid the blood price, there's no telling what might happen. He already wonders if this pale girl spun from moonlight is one of Their emissaries.

Ara Snow. A name for the face. A true name, in all likelihood. Not many of the other highlander clans share the same caution with their monikers. He grins at her when she comments on it, possessing much the same line of thought as her: it'd be rude for him to comment on the origin of her surname. "Branwen is just as good as Raven," he says, chuckling. "It isn't my true name, but we Whelans are cautious." Graeme isn't sure she would know his family, despite their reputation and widespread population. What kind of education did bastards get, anyway?

He pauses, blinking. Could she be a changeling?

Gulping, he hangs on to his composure, noticing the dark maroon smear of blood across her leg as she moves. "Oh, uh. Maybe you should use some of this?" He gestures vaguely to the stain, and noses the parcel of fur and salve forward, inching closer as he does so. "Will you allow me to help you?" He's anxious not to offend her, because regardless of whether she's a changeling or a bastard, he can't help but admit that's she's quite nice, and (dare he admit it?) pretty.

Maybe there's something in the bonfire smoke to addle his thoughts so thoroughly.

table by claerie. art by amphi.

Safe to... invoke them..? A small smile formed on her lips, then it grew, then she couldn't help but laugh. Light giggles filled the air, her ears flicking back as she came to terms with the suggestion. It was rude to laugh at others' beliefs and yet Ara couldn't help but find it so... silly? Cute? "Ahah..." The last of her giggles began to fade and she shook her head, lifting her wounded paw and brushing it by her cheek. "I'm sorry, I have just never heard that before." Blue-red eyes found those of green and she smiled warmly, internally hoping that he wasn't offended. "Do the Fae come when you call them?" Her head canted slightly to the side. "If so, I'd love if you could teach me." In her experience, they could not hear her—or if they did, they chose not to listen.

Ah, true name? Ara's ears twitched and she nodded, vaguely aware of this practice yet still unfamiliar with it. The abbey had never tried to conceal their souls from the Fae or other mortals. If anything, their greatest wish was to be stolen away by the magical beings that served as stewards of the land.

"Are you afraid of faeries, Branwen?" Her question was innocent enough but it probably would do little to soothe his worries when in fact she was putting him on edge.

At his offer of help, regardless of his answer to her last question, Ara can't help but smile slightly. Despite all of her social failings, he still wanted to help her. This was why she adored Samhain and the Highlanders in general. Were they skittish when it came to the Fae? Yes. But they believed and that was enough.

"Mmmhm, your help would be most appreciated." Ara lifted her paw and waited, allowing him to touch her if he wished.


@Graeme

code + art by claerie

Graeme's ears flatten against his head as Ara dissolves into giggles. A surge of emotions roils in his chest: confusion, annoyance, resignation. He isn't accustomed to speaking to many outside of his family, or even anyone who isn't a born and bred Highlander. To have his deep-rooted beliefs ridiculed, even in the most gentle of ways, is a nasty shock. His head ducks, gaze dropping to the side to study the shadowy forest as if he has suddenly become an avid student of darkness. She apologizes, but he isn't quite sure how to feel, and decides to come to terms with the realization that he may be alone in his way of life at a later time. Tonight was supposed to be a celebration, right?

"Nnnooo..." he says slowly, once again finding himself bemused. "They aren't at anyone's beck and call. It would be dangerous to have such power." He ponders for a moment, wondering if he should tell her about the Doctor - the only wolf he knew of that could possibly communicate with the fair folk without serious consequences. He chooses to bite his tongue, knowing that it would be considered a betrayal of trust of the Clan, likelier than not. Are you afraid of faeries, Branwen? Finally, he looks back up at his strange, ethereal new companion and smiles widely, eyes bright and teeth catching moonlight. "Of course I am. Only a fool wouldn't be at least a little afraid of something he doesn't fully understand." He knows it would be easy to misinterpret his healthy respect as cowardice.

She acquiesces to his offer of assistance, and so Graeme shuffles himself forward, using his nose to manipulate a smudge of the salve. He takes a moment to study the underside of her paw, looking for traces of a thorn. Gently as he can, he presses the medicine against the small wound, until its completely covered. Drawing back, its obvious he's proud of his work - a childlike glee softens his angular features. "That should do it. Wait a moment 'til it dries and it should be good as any bandage until the skin closes up. It'll fall off on its own." He smiles again, the bitterness of his uncomfortable enlightenment from earlier chased away by the sweet scent of the Samhain fires and charm of new companionship.

@Ara

table by claerie. art by amphi.

Oh dear, had she hurt his feelings? Snowy ears flicked back and her smile faltered as she found his gaze no longer upon the ground. Instead, he stared at the ground as if searching it for foliage as bright and brilliant as his eyes. But, alas, there was no contender, and he glanced back up with more awkwardness than before. Had she done to him what so many had done to her? Brushed away his beliefs with laughter and bemusement? Her heart ached and her smile became... somber. She felt the urge to apologize and yet, in that moment, did not know how. The moment had passed, but that was a silly excuse. She felt so guilty that it was hard to speak aloud, to make it somehow more true.

He smiled at last, and Ara relaxed somewhat. It was odd to hear him openly admit his fear so readily, and it occured to her that maybe she was the oddity. "I suppose that's fair," Ara mused with a small nod.

Still, guilt gnawed at her as he tended to her paw. He cared for her gingerly, his movements sweet and kind. After his advice, she left her paw hanging and she granted him an equally sweet, if not shy, smile. "Thank you..." And as her voice trailed away, she finally mustered up the courage to apologize.

"I am sorry if I offended you earlier," Ara began, motley eyes anxiously searching his face. "I should not have laughed." Pausing, she felt as if she was holding her breath. Then she blurted: "Do you want help with your wound?"

She had one paw but she could balance and use her nose.


@Graeme

code + art by claerie