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He was feeling it again: that urge to move. He'd paced the courtyard for hours, wandered the forever fruitful orchards, circled the ponds a thousand times over and it'd still not gone away. He'd counted every bird that passed, greeted every beast he came upon, even managed at one point to sample the honey from an eager and bustling hive of bees, having wracked his mind for ages to recall where that particular oak tree was. He'd pressed his honey slicked fingers to his eternally shut lips and licked the sweet syrup clumsily from them, nodding in affirmation as an energetic worker at the mouth of the hive repeatedly asked if it met his standards. Even this did nothing to calm the buzzing in his head though, that loud and hissing hum at the core of his brain that silenced all attempts to think past it. It was an uncomfortable, sickening energy that worked its way like vines from his skull, down his spine and into his legs, forcing him to keep moving no matter how badly he wished only to return to the castle at the center of the grove.
No, instead, the compulsion commanded him to do but one thing: find the edge. He'd trudged away from the hive, already deaf to the sound of the swarm trying to coax him back, as he'd been to the doe that had offered to let him rest his head upon her, or the badger that had pleaded with him to slip into his burrow for a little while. “Just to clear your head, sire, you're not well today.” He'd wandered past him all the same with barely a wave, the fairy's dark eyes fixed on a point in space too far away to see. The way out, there was a way out once, wasn't there? There was, there had been. He recalled walking in, so long ago, how willingly he'd entered the grove. Had he not planned the labyrinth himself? Had this beautiful prison not been one of his own design? He shouldn't find the way out, that was what he'd created it all for. The compulsion prodded again, like a knife to his brain, like a fire at his back. It made no explanation for itself, it demanded no deeper action. 'Find the edge' was all he needed to know, and his fingers now feverishly picked at the supple, rust red and living thread that ensured his permanent silence. His thinking brain had barely any cognizance of it, even as one talon bit into the sinewy strand, brilliant red blood beading up at the point where it sunk in, only for the wound to seal itself as quickly as it was made.
As his feet moved without prompting, he began to dig through his faded and ragged memories, this mental action more exhausting than this entire day spent wandering. Merely trying to recall past this morning was a chore, and just beyond the flimsy collection of his most recent memories lay what felt like a vast and open sea of disconnected pictures and recollections, all either blending into each other or sinking away into an endless and black abyss. The edge, the edge... what was the path to the edge? Past the crumbled walls and beneath the broken arches, towards where the woods began to thicken and darken. There, past there, was the edge, but how far? What was the path again?
He suddenly sunk his teeth into the side of his cheek, and the pinpoint white pupils of his pitch black eyes suddenly dilated, nearly encompassing the entirety of his eye as the pain of his action shot like a bolt through the fog. There he stood, frozen upon the threshold of the forest, staring outwards into what looked to be an unending expanse of trees. As if he'd only just now fully realized what he was doing and where he was going. The fairy's ears, ink colored and cervidaen, snapped backwards, similarly dark wings sharply raising with his hackles as if to intimidate an unseen foe. Again, the fog crept forward, trying once again to deaden the senses and regain control, and again the fairy's sharp teeth tore into his own cheek, his black clawed hands entwining with each other to rend apart soft and translucently pale flesh as the first bubble of ruby red blood forced its way out from between his stitched lips.
No, he commanded, his own voice within his head frail and tired, but no less tenacious than it had always been, all these uncountable years. My thoughts are my own. My body is my own. My duty still stands, so long as I breathe. And breathe he did, deeply. Inwards long and slow, and then outwards again through his nose, old and powerful blood trailing down his chin, dripping from the wounds he'd gouged in his hands onto the hungry earth beneath him. Though the damage healed so quickly, the pain of it still took time to subside, and he clung to the sensation like a pilgrim in the night to a campfire. That, and the taste of copper in his mouth, served to drive back that encroaching haze, pushing it away and down once more beneath that turbulent dark ocean that was his mind now. Never gone, only to slip away and wait for another moment of weakness, as it always did. Once more, he found himself lost within his mind, but this time of his own accord as he listened to the rustling of the leaves in the wind, and the sensation of his hair against his cheek, moving to these as the pain ebbed away into nothing once more.
Such was his focus that when the weight of a little body suddenly touched upon his antlers, he jerked sharply, only realizing then that his eyes had slipped close as he swayed where he stood before the threshold of the forest.
“Your Highness! There you are!!!” A finch , bright eyed and panicked, hopped from one blackened and gnarled tine to the other, picking at the shriveled buds and brown leaves that still sparsely bedecked them. “Maeve told me she'd not seen you in hours and Ambrose told me to find you and the badgers and the bees said that you'd wandered off towards the forest and I'd thought the worst because you said you're not supposed to go past the treeline and I couldn't find you and I was so sure you'd gone past the treeline and I was just doing what you said we were to do if you were to wander too close to the treeline and-” He reached up with one bloodstained hand, not to shoo the frantic creature away but to indicate he was well... Well... Well. Well, all things considered, anyway. At first the little creature flickered to his extended hand, as if he intended to sit upon the offered finger but upon sighting the blood stains, it seemed that his mind was instantly changed.
“What happened?! Were you bitten? Who? Did you fall? Did you prick your finger? Did you cut your hand? No one bit you did they? I'll tell Maeve! I'll tell Ambrose! I'll tell the bees and the badgers and we'll show them what for, sire, just say the word I'll have the army right here, I'll have the whole grove at attention, I'll-” Now it was the fairy's turn to be a bit frantic, tilting his head this way and that to try and catch sight of the bird now flitting around his antlers, trying to find out precisely what was injured and who did it and thus, who was deserving of what looked to be his growing righteous fury. Gently but quickly, the fairy motioned for the finch to calm down, before gesturing to the obviously unharmed skin upon his hands, before sheepishly moving to rub away the red stain upon his chin. Not every creature here was connected quite as closely to him as his closest confidants were, and without a translator around he'd naught but motions to try and explain himself. A task that he was adamantly trying to do, to the best of his abilities, but that would require the little bird actually looking at him instead of trying to fight invisible biting ghosts.
“What? What is it? What are you- Oh. Oh you're not hurt? Oh. Oh. Oh yes I'd forgotten about that, you... you wouldn't be would you? No of course not, I'm so sorry, sire. I was just so worried, I'm still a bit shaken, I was so scared you'd wandered off and Maeve said that if you'd gotten past the treeline she'd eat me and Ambrose said he'd let her eat me and I was worried that you'd be upset if you'd gotten any further, I'm not worried Maeve would eat me, I'm much too fast for that, please don't be upset with Maeve for threatening to eat me because she wouldn't and Ambrose was only joking don't tell her I told you that she told me that she would eat me and that Ambrose wouldn't help, I'm not scared of being eaten I'm just thinking of her feelings, am I talking too much sire?” It was at this point that yes... yes his gaze had started to become a bit unfocused again, but this time not due to anything as dire as what had once been clouding his mind. Finches were lovely, of course, but the chatter did become... a bit tiresome after a time. Not that the little creature would, nor indeed could be told as much without the aforementioned Maeve or Ambrose about but clearly that was for the best right now.
Politely, he declined to answer, giving the finch a small smile instead. Granted, no answer was just as good as a negative one, and the bird made a gentle, awkward sound. “I'm so sorry, sire. I didn't mean to talk your ears off I was just- I'm doing it again, I keep doing it, I'm so sorry I- I keep doing it I'm- Can I just... I'm going to have a rest.” A move that was for the best, and the fairy gestured to the antlers patiently. He'd need someone to come with him back to the castle regardless, just in case his mind began to slip from him again. Mercifully, silently, the now quiet finch took up that offer, picking one of the uppermost twisting tines as a perch. Then, once more, the fairy began his return towards the center of the grove, his steps suddenly leaden as the full weight of the day's constant motion began to settle in. It'd be a long, slow trek back, but at least it would be with company, with his murky mind now his own once more, for the time being. No sleep would help, this he knew. No amount of rest nor good food nor music, reading or art would keep this tenuous clarity. But for now, once more, his will was still his own. In time this too would fade, but perhaps by then, he'd not even recall the path to the treeline. He could only hope, and listen to the sound of the chorus of crickets as the sky slowly darkened to pink and purple, the scent of roses laying heavy in the air and the soft and throaty song of owls starting to pick up from the forest behind them. Another day gone in an endless line of them, another battle won, in an inevitably failed war.
No, instead, the compulsion commanded him to do but one thing: find the edge. He'd trudged away from the hive, already deaf to the sound of the swarm trying to coax him back, as he'd been to the doe that had offered to let him rest his head upon her, or the badger that had pleaded with him to slip into his burrow for a little while. “Just to clear your head, sire, you're not well today.” He'd wandered past him all the same with barely a wave, the fairy's dark eyes fixed on a point in space too far away to see. The way out, there was a way out once, wasn't there? There was, there had been. He recalled walking in, so long ago, how willingly he'd entered the grove. Had he not planned the labyrinth himself? Had this beautiful prison not been one of his own design? He shouldn't find the way out, that was what he'd created it all for. The compulsion prodded again, like a knife to his brain, like a fire at his back. It made no explanation for itself, it demanded no deeper action. 'Find the edge' was all he needed to know, and his fingers now feverishly picked at the supple, rust red and living thread that ensured his permanent silence. His thinking brain had barely any cognizance of it, even as one talon bit into the sinewy strand, brilliant red blood beading up at the point where it sunk in, only for the wound to seal itself as quickly as it was made.
As his feet moved without prompting, he began to dig through his faded and ragged memories, this mental action more exhausting than this entire day spent wandering. Merely trying to recall past this morning was a chore, and just beyond the flimsy collection of his most recent memories lay what felt like a vast and open sea of disconnected pictures and recollections, all either blending into each other or sinking away into an endless and black abyss. The edge, the edge... what was the path to the edge? Past the crumbled walls and beneath the broken arches, towards where the woods began to thicken and darken. There, past there, was the edge, but how far? What was the path again?
He suddenly sunk his teeth into the side of his cheek, and the pinpoint white pupils of his pitch black eyes suddenly dilated, nearly encompassing the entirety of his eye as the pain of his action shot like a bolt through the fog. There he stood, frozen upon the threshold of the forest, staring outwards into what looked to be an unending expanse of trees. As if he'd only just now fully realized what he was doing and where he was going. The fairy's ears, ink colored and cervidaen, snapped backwards, similarly dark wings sharply raising with his hackles as if to intimidate an unseen foe. Again, the fog crept forward, trying once again to deaden the senses and regain control, and again the fairy's sharp teeth tore into his own cheek, his black clawed hands entwining with each other to rend apart soft and translucently pale flesh as the first bubble of ruby red blood forced its way out from between his stitched lips.
No, he commanded, his own voice within his head frail and tired, but no less tenacious than it had always been, all these uncountable years. My thoughts are my own. My body is my own. My duty still stands, so long as I breathe. And breathe he did, deeply. Inwards long and slow, and then outwards again through his nose, old and powerful blood trailing down his chin, dripping from the wounds he'd gouged in his hands onto the hungry earth beneath him. Though the damage healed so quickly, the pain of it still took time to subside, and he clung to the sensation like a pilgrim in the night to a campfire. That, and the taste of copper in his mouth, served to drive back that encroaching haze, pushing it away and down once more beneath that turbulent dark ocean that was his mind now. Never gone, only to slip away and wait for another moment of weakness, as it always did. Once more, he found himself lost within his mind, but this time of his own accord as he listened to the rustling of the leaves in the wind, and the sensation of his hair against his cheek, moving to these as the pain ebbed away into nothing once more.
Such was his focus that when the weight of a little body suddenly touched upon his antlers, he jerked sharply, only realizing then that his eyes had slipped close as he swayed where he stood before the threshold of the forest.
“Your Highness! There you are!!!” A finch , bright eyed and panicked, hopped from one blackened and gnarled tine to the other, picking at the shriveled buds and brown leaves that still sparsely bedecked them. “Maeve told me she'd not seen you in hours and Ambrose told me to find you and the badgers and the bees said that you'd wandered off towards the forest and I'd thought the worst because you said you're not supposed to go past the treeline and I couldn't find you and I was so sure you'd gone past the treeline and I was just doing what you said we were to do if you were to wander too close to the treeline and-” He reached up with one bloodstained hand, not to shoo the frantic creature away but to indicate he was well... Well... Well. Well, all things considered, anyway. At first the little creature flickered to his extended hand, as if he intended to sit upon the offered finger but upon sighting the blood stains, it seemed that his mind was instantly changed.
“What happened?! Were you bitten? Who? Did you fall? Did you prick your finger? Did you cut your hand? No one bit you did they? I'll tell Maeve! I'll tell Ambrose! I'll tell the bees and the badgers and we'll show them what for, sire, just say the word I'll have the army right here, I'll have the whole grove at attention, I'll-” Now it was the fairy's turn to be a bit frantic, tilting his head this way and that to try and catch sight of the bird now flitting around his antlers, trying to find out precisely what was injured and who did it and thus, who was deserving of what looked to be his growing righteous fury. Gently but quickly, the fairy motioned for the finch to calm down, before gesturing to the obviously unharmed skin upon his hands, before sheepishly moving to rub away the red stain upon his chin. Not every creature here was connected quite as closely to him as his closest confidants were, and without a translator around he'd naught but motions to try and explain himself. A task that he was adamantly trying to do, to the best of his abilities, but that would require the little bird actually looking at him instead of trying to fight invisible biting ghosts.
“What? What is it? What are you- Oh. Oh you're not hurt? Oh. Oh. Oh yes I'd forgotten about that, you... you wouldn't be would you? No of course not, I'm so sorry, sire. I was just so worried, I'm still a bit shaken, I was so scared you'd wandered off and Maeve said that if you'd gotten past the treeline she'd eat me and Ambrose said he'd let her eat me and I was worried that you'd be upset if you'd gotten any further, I'm not worried Maeve would eat me, I'm much too fast for that, please don't be upset with Maeve for threatening to eat me because she wouldn't and Ambrose was only joking don't tell her I told you that she told me that she would eat me and that Ambrose wouldn't help, I'm not scared of being eaten I'm just thinking of her feelings, am I talking too much sire?” It was at this point that yes... yes his gaze had started to become a bit unfocused again, but this time not due to anything as dire as what had once been clouding his mind. Finches were lovely, of course, but the chatter did become... a bit tiresome after a time. Not that the little creature would, nor indeed could be told as much without the aforementioned Maeve or Ambrose about but clearly that was for the best right now.
Politely, he declined to answer, giving the finch a small smile instead. Granted, no answer was just as good as a negative one, and the bird made a gentle, awkward sound. “I'm so sorry, sire. I didn't mean to talk your ears off I was just- I'm doing it again, I keep doing it, I'm so sorry I- I keep doing it I'm- Can I just... I'm going to have a rest.” A move that was for the best, and the fairy gestured to the antlers patiently. He'd need someone to come with him back to the castle regardless, just in case his mind began to slip from him again. Mercifully, silently, the now quiet finch took up that offer, picking one of the uppermost twisting tines as a perch. Then, once more, the fairy began his return towards the center of the grove, his steps suddenly leaden as the full weight of the day's constant motion began to settle in. It'd be a long, slow trek back, but at least it would be with company, with his murky mind now his own once more, for the time being. No sleep would help, this he knew. No amount of rest nor good food nor music, reading or art would keep this tenuous clarity. But for now, once more, his will was still his own. In time this too would fade, but perhaps by then, he'd not even recall the path to the treeline. He could only hope, and listen to the sound of the chorus of crickets as the sky slowly darkened to pink and purple, the scent of roses laying heavy in the air and the soft and throaty song of owls starting to pick up from the forest behind them. Another day gone in an endless line of them, another battle won, in an inevitably failed war.