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Orhien Naena

he says nobody gets nothing. he says if you want it, kill for it.

0 · 647 views · located in Fae Realm

a character in “Aes SΓ­dhe”, as played by Ξ•pΞΉmetheus

Description

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β—’
N A M E : xxxorhien naena.

A L I A S : xxmadra rua.xxxtuil-bheum.

I D E N T I T Y : xxxoren north.

A G E : xxxseven hundred fifty nine.

S E X U A L I T Y : xxxheterosexual.

C O U R T : xxxhigh.

R O L E : xxxexile.xxxhunter.

O C C U P A T I O N : xxxdetective.

P R I M A R Y : xxxpersuasion.

S E C O N D A R Y : xxxpresent sight.xxxportal generation.


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━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━i try to piece myself together out of the things you called me before moonfall


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      β—’ A P P E A R A N C E .

      Gold was a part of Orhien's life before warmth was. Every delicately spun thread of his robes, every finely gilded wall of the house; his mother's eyes haunted him when she looked at him, their solid golden shine too empty to bear. He sought comfort within himself only to find the glass cold to touch and the same eyes as his mother staring back. Intricate patterns shimmered as they swam along his flesh, ever shifting into new ornate trails of that same unfeeling color. Every inch of him was transientβ€” even the hair cascading to his shoulderblades caught in a time loop of sunset to sunrise, the gradient of gold-tinted hues always falling and rising without a moment's rest. And Orhien learned he would never be permanent.

      Silly was he to believe he could ever lose his name without replacing it with something equally as dreadful. From Γ“r Saothraithe to Madra Rua, gold to red, it made no difference. Either way he was coated in something he did not wish to have. Stars only know why the blood of the solitary fae is so scarlet and stark. When he bleeds, it is mercury, still beautiful, and it almost doesn't seem fair. But he was bred for diplomacy, nobility seeping from his pores, and even in all the ugliness of his acts, he supposed it was only right he never lost the glamour of that trickery.

      Human, he is perhaps less captivating, but no less intimidating. His height shortened to an acceptable level for human folk, hair turned murky brown, eyes dulled to honeyed rye. Even the gold traces on his flesh disappeared, flowing now beneath the surface of skin. (And for a brief moment, there was a spark of relief.) Still, there remains the stone posture of a man who has never been challenged, the unflinching gaze of someone used to control. The beauty of a fae is hard to mask, but damn, if he doesn't tryβ€” the rugged wardrobe of the life-weary all he has now, no longer draped in soft faery silk, kelpie leather. He was tired of the human attention before it even started, exhausted before he had reason to be. Not to say he never accepted offers. He still does. There is something enticing about the dangerous charms of fae, and on nights when she still comes to mind, that is an advantage he is not hesitant to utilize.



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━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ honey. songbird. god.


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β—’ P E R S O N A L I T Y .

There is no mercy in the blinding gleam of the court's metals and jewels, not even behind closed doors. The riches are beautiful, so beautiful and so frigid they stole the life right out of him. He understood; once he learned to stop shivering in the vacant rooms, he understood. No weakness. It was not a matter of hiding the cracks and chinks behind an ornate mask, it was a matter of not having any at all. And he learned, learned it well. In a century or less, nothing in the realm existed that could bring him to his knees. And nothing that could help him stand.

For a moment, he'd lost sight of the comfort of a purely physical existence; vulnerability was new, quaintβ€” for a century. No more. Efficiency and a ruthless hand, those were the reasons his bloodline had continued on as long, as powerful as it had. And the reason he'd been the same. He'd been a fool to forget that, even for a moment, even for a warm caress and a gentle voice. One thing has changed: now, when he compels others to do as he wills, it is with a whistle instead of a song. Some weights are too much to bear.

He has never been the man he is meant to be, began to proclaim himself to beβ€”he knows that. Somewhere in his vacant, gaping chest, he knows that. No one else has to. The more he acts the part, the more seamlessly it seems to fit, until the only thing separating him from the superiority he enacts are the ineptitude of his actions and the quiet moments before sleep claims him when he remembers what he really is, what he always has been. She took him, facade and all, and crumpled him in her fist like a withered flower, and he'd been grateful. So grateful to have finally cast off the cloak that sat heavy on his shoulders, even if only behind closed doors. She unfurled her fingers, and he fell from the palm of her hand returned to his natural stateβ€” dust and debris.

When he reclaimed the cloak, it was with a vengeance. The sting of pride rose bitter like bile in his throat until he choked on it. Faced with only two options, he let it coat his teeth like venom. These days, his tongue is numb. The bitter taste has not faded.


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━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ what more can i know of these words than the walls they were said behind?


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β—’ L I K E S .

hikes. xx.x overcast days. xx.x gardens. xxx green tea. xxx art. patterns. xxx logic puzzles. xxx archery. xxx the shooting range. mixed martial arts. xxx playing the harp. xxx novels. xxx scented hand soap. xxx fae taverns. xxx summer wine. xxx card games. research. xxx beaches. xxx sunrises. xxx

β—’ D I S L I K E S .

people taller than him. xxx jewelry. xxx moonstones. xxx singing. scented candles. xxx lemon tea. xxx technology. xxx social niceties. xxx coffee. xxx wide open spaces. xxx human music. synthetic fabrics. xxx meetings. xxx scheduling. xxx human bars. writing letters. xxx wasting time. xxx heavy weapons. xxx


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━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━in the morning, perhaps they will hold the sun


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    β—’ S T R E N G T H S .

    P E R C E P T I V E . xxxHe did not serve as a bounty hunter for so many years for no reason. He is quick to pick up on changes in his environment.

    D I L I G E N T . xxxWhen he sets himself to a task, he does so with every intention of seeing it through. No job is left unfinished.

    C A L C U L A T I V E . xxxA cool head and penchant for quick thought forged in the field, his experience gives him a leg up on those who have merely trained.

    β—’ W E A K N E S S E S .

    S U P E R I O R I T Y . xxxThere is a reason he made his human form so towering. He is used to standing above others and does not like when others best him, sometimes to the point of petty childishness.

    I S O L A T I O N . xxxOrhien has always preferred to keep to himself, never opening to the chance to bond with others. This makes him a rather lackluster teammate and a person somewhat infuriating to try to get to open up.

    S T U B B O R N . xxxHe does not like to be wrong, but more importantly, he is incredibly slow to believe he could be. This is a man who does not listen to reason if it counters his opinion.

    β—’ M A G I C β—’&β—’ E Q U I P M E N T .

    P R I M A R Y . xxxPersuasion allows Orhien to compel others to do as he wills by putting them in a highly suggestive fugue state through some medium of melody. The recipient must first hear Orhien’s melody of choice, at least five bars, and effects afterwards last just shy of half an hour. For those with a high mental resistance, the effects may not be as strong and may not last as long. Naturally, every person has a limit to how far they may be pushed before a basic survival instinct kicks in and breaks the spell; Orhien cannot instruct anyone, for example, to walk themselves off a cliff.

    S E C O N D A R Y . xxxOrhien is capable of generating portals over relatively short distances (approx. 500 miles). However, he can only open one at a time and cannot repeat the process more than twice in rapid succession. He is also capable of viewing events occurring in other locations in the present time. The vision is limited to visuals only and does not last any longer than a minute. He must have in mind the person or place he wishes to see; vague concepts will yield vague results. Afterwards, he cannot utilize the ability for at least six hours.

    E Q U I P M E N T . xxxWhen he fled the high court, Orhien brought with him a decorative dagger. Studded with jewels and crafted from solid gold, it serves more as a reminder of the things he ran from than any actual purpose.

β–€β–€β–€β–€β–€β–€β–€β–€β–€β–€β–€β–€β–€β–€β–€β–€β–€β–€β–€β–€β–€β–€β–€β–€β–€β–€β–€β–€β–€β–€β–€β–€β–€β–€β–€β–€β–€β–€β–€β–€β–€β–€β–€β–€β–€β–€β–€β–€β–€β–€β–€β–€β–€β–€β–€β–€β–€β–€β–€β–€β–€β–€β–€β–€β–€β–€β–€β–€β–€β–€β–€β–€β–€β–€β–€
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━i ask what you want and you say everything, you say


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β—’ H I S T O R Y .

He’d been bred for diplomacy, crafted finely and carefully, but the court never held a place for him. He began as a parlor trick. A breaking of the meeting to offer a song from the talented heir of the house, they set him before a harp at the front of the room, and he’d done as he’d been trained. Later, the guests, caught on the short end of the deal but not quite enough feel cheated, would attribute their lapse in judgement to the summer wine, honeyed and sweet. And so his days trickled on, too polite and saccharineβ€” too sharp teeth hidden behind wicked smiles. Every family had their tricks. None liked to share.

The problemβ€” a discomfort bone deep, but too dull to be worth notingβ€” did not make itself apparent until he came of age to train in battle. There he learned: it was far better to bare his teeth than mask them. Orhien hated smiling. He detested the savagery of language. He stopped singing songs in the court while his parents looked on in vague disapproval as he donned the garments of the knight’s order. (When he emerged as a failure, they simply created another. Orhien doesn’t know the boy.)

After sufficient time in service to the Lord, one thing became clear: Orhien was skilled in combat, but he excelled in catching those in the places they were not meant to be. Court spies, solitary miscreants and thieves, defecting faeβ€” steadily, he accumulated numbers. Eventually, when the Lord needed someone found, he no longer sent forth a unit. He knew who to call to the court. Orhien removed himself from the general ranks of the order and settled into the new position that had been carved out for him. When the Lord wanted to curry favor with the courts, he would lend the hunter out, promise whichever traitor needed to be hunted down would be caught in time. They always were (though few were requested for alive). The solitary learned to fear him, and the forest followed, roots retracting beneath his feet, undergrowth shriveling into itself to clear his path. His name held powerβ€” Madra Rua, the blood-soaked hound, and whispered in the darkness, it was half plea, half prayer.

He was more story than man. He lost track of which of the horrors they accused him ofβ€”perhaps praised him forβ€” were truth and which were merely legend. It may as well all have been true. He did not care to correct anything, and they did not care to know. It is little wonder then, he supposes, that he was felled the moment she smiled in the courtyard. The second time, he may as well have handed her a blade to slay him with. (As it turns out, she never needed one.)

When he held her, it was under a moonless sky dotted with stars, and the taste of her skin kept him intoxicated for days after. He loved her in the inky dark of night, hidden away from the prying eyes of the court, but nothing was lacking. He would sing to her for no other reason than to sing, and she would call it beautiful for no reason other than believing it was, and Orhien felt his very being cleaved in half. When she brushed the shimmering tears he did not know he was capable of mustering from his eyes it was with a laugh that could piece the world back together again.

He had missed one. A young girl who shared her eyes and her hair, and when he’d seen fear in her face, he could not bear to take her life from her. Orhien did not flinch when the Lord cracked his staff against his jaw, threw him to the floor. But he could not stop the dread that built in his stomach when the Lord looked at him with ice in his eyes. He had seen it before. A week later, she was given notice she’d been selected to join the ranks of the court’s consorts. To decline may as well have been treason. He was willing. She was not. He held her wrist, the two of them hovering between two worlds. The scattered bodies of a handful of guards and edge of the court limits, a promise of freedom, laid out at his back; the glittering jewels of the court and the vast emptiness of its golden gleam lay at hers. He held her gaze for what could have passed as a lifetime. She pulled her hand away, the flesh of her wrist discolored a brilliant blue where his fingers had been grasping, and the doors to the palace shut. And he ranβ€”until the reached the end of his world and kept going right into the next.

He does not know how many years precisely he spent trudging through the human realm before they came to him. He recognized every half truth they put before him, was all too familiar with their brand of trickery. ”She wept for you. (Yes, but how long ago?) ”She does not wish to be wed to the new Lord.” (Does he even wish to be wed to her?) ”All the ladies of the court say she has waited for you every day since you left.” (Is that not just the restless gossip of the bored nobility?) ”They all say she carries regret with her like a cloak.” (And they looked to me and saw a beast. What weight do their words carry?) He didn’t ask. He didn’t want to know. He followed anyway.


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━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━i want the sea but i want to be holy too


c h a r a c t e rxxs h e e txbyxxxlayla
f a c e c l a i mxxxjorge zumeta
p l a y e dxxb yxxxepimetheus

So begins...

Orhien Naena's Story

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Orhien Naena Character Portrait: Amaya Kyotsuki Character Portrait: Mariko Kimura Character Portrait: KazimΓ­r Ε Ε₯astnΓ½ Character Portrait: Aurora Kinski Character Portrait: Ryu Se-Ri Character Portrait: Alize MorleaΓΊ Character Portrait: Cullen Lawrence Character Portrait: Kelvin Woods Character Portrait: Petunia Griffin Character Portrait: Illyana BΓ‘rΓ‘ny Character Portrait: Ryu Yeong Character Portrait: Tae Jeong Character Portrait: Lilith Averescu
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

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▁ β–‚ β–ƒxxxH I G Hxxxxxx ▁ β–‚ β–ƒxxx31/12/17 : 1100xxxxxx▁ β–‚ β–ƒxxxW H E R ExxxW O R L D SxxxC O L L I D E
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xxxxxxThe moon released its cold, blue breath. Her sisters followed; speckles of starlight coming to life across the cold expanse overhead. And like a milky way on earth, the faelights that hovered untethered to mortal devices illuminated a path deep into the woods. Human passersby steered clear of the forest that emanated terror and demise, ushered away by a cleverly crafted glamour.
xxxxxxThose that dared venture into the sprawling canopies and distant shadows would find a mirageβ€”an illusion that broke like water when prodded. And through this unseen wallβ€”magic. For on the final night of every year, exiles and Fey without allegianceβ€”or "freefolk," as was polite to call themβ€”gathered in the fringes of New York City to celebrate the end of the earth's rotation.
xxxxxxThrough the veil were colours unseen by the human eye. Beads of light hung from the branches of ancient trees, their fingertips caressing the tips of faerie wings. A river snaked through the celebrations, spelled to bubble with a thick and cloying liquid of darkest gold.
xxxxxxFey danced to music that swelled like waves and descended in waterfalls. An alluring flute murmured its tune from the fingers of a sylph, urging lost humans to dance their worries away. Until their feet blistered, bled, and broke.
xxxxxxThe couples and groups twirling to the symphony were immune to such temptations, as they, too, had been forged of impossible things. A little blue boy giggled in his mother's arms as she twirled him 'round and 'round, her lips peeling back to reveal small, pointy teeth that could shatter human bones. Another girl blushed, her skin morphing into the emeralds and mahoganies of the trees behind her as if she could disappear into the belly of a trunk.
xxxxxx"Oi, watch it!" shouted a manβ€”who was also a goat. Thankfully, from the waist down. He glared over his shoulder at the rather ordinary looking fellow stumbling past him. The subject of his distaste grunted and waved his mug of honeyed tea, its contents sloshing over the sides and between his fingers.
xxxxxx"S'ry," he murmured, scrunching his nose. Suddenly, a sneeze erupted from him, the strength of it tossing him backward into a crate of candied apples and lifting the skirts of some wayward ladies. They squealed, sending of breath of frigid air that melded his hand to his mug.
xxxxxx"Oh, come on," he groaned, rolling onto his side and falling to the dirt. He blinked. And squeezed his eyes shut. Opened them. Closed. For surely, he must be mistaken. Or inebriated.
xxxxxxFor through the thicket of bushes and leaves, a set of ruby orbs peered into the revelry. But before the man could yell, the redcap scuttled away into darkness, leaving only a murky memory in its wake.

▁ β–‚ β–ƒ β–‚ ▁


xxxxxxAmaya peered through the lens of her microscope at the bronze watch on her worktop. Joji hummed overhead, the tremble and thump of his synth filling the old antique store with contemporary music. Amaya exhaled to his croon, and wiggled the burnisher into the bezel of the old watch.
xxxxxx"Hey grand- Shit!" A cacophony of tumbling wood and smashing metal followed his expletives, ending with the sharp punctuation of his pained wail. "Ow, ow, ow!"
xxxxxxAmaya did not look up from her work as she said, "That's $6,410 worth of priceless artifacts you just knocked over."
xxxxxx"My femur! My femur!"
xxxxxx"Is decidedly less valuable," she murmured, slipping the watch's crystal face over the dial. "What are you doing in my shop, Ishaan?"
xxxxxx"What most people do in shops? Buy things?" Ishaan emerged from behind a glass cabinet stuffed with various deadly instruments and one too many skulls. "Though I can't imagine how anyone finds anything in this place. When was the last time you organised?"
xxxxxx"It's organised."
xxxxxxIshaan looked around him at the various texts and materials littered throughout the store, all of which seemed to have been placed without reason. A cluster of feathered pens sat beside a fraying Jack-o'-lantern; a pile of rare manuscripts were poised precariously atop a sealed bottle of indiscernible liquid; a frightening puppet with only one eye hung beside a brilliant chandelier of molten gold.
xxxxxx"Right," said Ishaan.
xxxxxx"Well?" Amaya prodded. "Out with it."
xxxxxx"We need Pandora's Box for the New Year's celebrations."
xxxxxxAmaya lifted her head to pin Ishaan with her black stare. She raised a brow. "Do you?"
xxxxxx"Well, yes. Obviously. Because I just said-"
xxxxxx"It was a rhetorical question."
xxxxxx"Oh."
xxxxxxMoments passed, the silence interjected only by the soft ticking of the watch Amaya held in her hands.
xxxxxx"Soooo..." Ishaan began. "Can you do it?"
xxxxxx"Yes."
xxxxxx"Will you do it?" he clarified.
xxxxxx"What happened to the box I gave you last year?"
xxxxxx"Uh..." Ishaan smiled sheepishly. "We broke it."
xxxxxx"How?"
xxxxxx"Gertrude was gassy."
xxxxxx"That literally explains nothing."
xxxxxx"Gertrude is part orc."
xxxxxx"Oh. That explains everything." They shared a slow nod of understanding. Without warning, Amaya stood, wiping her hands on the cloth strewn over her chair. "Don't break anything or I'll sell your organs on the black market to make up my losses."
xxxxxxAmaya glided between the mountain of objects seemingly without care as Ishaan tiptoed behind her. She ducked, disappearing into a narrow passageway that opened up to reveal a marginally wider door. She twisted the handle and stepped in.
xxxxxx"You don't lock it?" Ishaan asked.
xxxxxx"Why? Would you steal from me?" she replied.
xxxxxx"N-no. Geez. Of course not. Please stop looking at me.”
xxxxxxA flood of cold air greeted them. Colder even than the Winter beyond the store's four walls. The room glowed with an eerie blue light. This was Amaya's real collection. The priceless Fey objects and relics beyond the innocuous storefront that declared this place the Home of Intangible Things.
xxxxxxPotions swirling with incandescent hues perched on shelves etched with ancient runes; a wiry potted plant emitted an eerie glow in a corner; a book whose cover shifted with every minute hovered within a glass dome. Yet Amaya ignored all these as she approached a box the size of her palm. She lifted it, peeling back the velvet cloth that encased it.
xxxxxx"Here," she said. "You'll owe me a favour for this."
xxxxxx"Yeah, yeah. I know the rules. But," he chewed his lip, "we were actually hoping for another favour from you. Could you, maybe, attend the celebrations and call upon the box yourself? Its sister was so unruly last year. We had no idea how to get it back in once we'd opened it."
xxxxxx"Put three objects of personal value into the box and call-"
xxxxxx"Yeah, we got your instructions last time. But those rascals inside are hard to wrestle."
xxxxxx"You'll have to pay extra."
xxxxxx"Already on it." Ishaan waved his arm. "My sister has a gem from one of the late king's crowns. So, deal?"
xxxxxxAmaya tilted her head, fixing him with her stare. "Deal."

▁ β–‚ β–ƒ β–‚ ▁


xxxxxxThe box held within it collective memoriesβ€”whispers of another time before the courts had been forged and anarchy reigned. Four powerful faeries had gathered to forge an alliance, carving into a map the lines of their rule. The Courts embodied the balance of the natural world. The seasonal courtsβ€”Summer and Winterβ€”would share the earth's cycle, shifting their power to reflect changes in the climate. The courts of Dark and High would create chaos and maintain order, so that the world would not fall into excess. A High Lady or Lord would command each court, with their mates at their side.
xxxxxxAmaya stood at the centre of a clearing, where a crowd had gathered in anticipation of the night's ritual. The midnight hour neared.
xxxxxxA strand of alabaster hair fluttered into Amaya’s line of vision. She beat her papery wings and the small gust that followed lifted her hair from her face. Her off-the-shoulder dress swished around her ankles, their opal colours changing in the dim light that emanated from the faelights.
xxxxxxAmaya paid her audience no head as she twisted the box’s moving parts, spinning the sundial leftward untilβ€”like a setting sun that had met its endβ€”it was eclipsed by a silver moon. She spun both ends of the box until the flourishing green tress met its barren twin on the other side.
xxxxxxPandora’s box unlocked.
xxxxxxA burst of red light blinded the Fey, and when it retreated, a chorus of cheers rose from them. Scarlet figures of smoke and vapour danced above their heads, wielding small swords and spinning in skirts that left faint trails behind them. The musicians began their symphony.
xxxxxxAmaya tilted her head upwards to watch the memories unfurl, her eyelids fluttering shut against their brilliance. The glow of the figures bounced off the crescent moon on her forehead, the curved mark scattering the colours into a kaleidoscopic dance.
xxxxxxSuddenly, a small red dancer turned and screamed.
xxxxxxAmaya's eyes snapped open. She turned as the people forged of red smoke raced with a fervour, screeching as they fought to return to their box. Large figures of flesh and bone rose behind them, their forearms encased in metal, their faces cloaked in armour. They wore the uniforms of the High Court's royal guardβ€”a legion sworn to protect the faerie on the throneβ€”but their magic did not solely belong to the High Court. A faerie with a swarm of straw-blonde hair threw a column of flame into the throngs of Fey fleeing the woods.
xxxxxx"Give us the Halflings," called a woman in copper armour. "And we might consider granting you exiles and traitors a merciful death."
xxxxxxAmaya had stilled, enraptured by the woman's familiar form, and the emerald eyes that peered from the slit in her helmet. Airell. The girl had been her friend, once. Or as close to a friend as one could find when one was imprisoned in a tower.
xxxxxxThe luck fae had warned her of this. KazimΓ­r Ε Ε₯astnΓ½. He had told her of the late king's downfall and her role in his child's resurrection. He had said with some mirth that she owed him a debt. He had saved her life, he'd claimed. When he was just a child, and she the prisoner of the High Lady of the Dark Court. She had not wanted to believe him, but she did remember him. The small boy with smaller antlers who had come to her cell and offered her luck.
xxxxxx"Feykiller," Airell intoned. "I did not expect to see you. Today must be my lucky day."
xxxxxxAmaya turned and ran.
xxxxxx"Fleeing again, are we?" Airell called out. "Where is the Blood Moon our keepers worshipped?"
xxxxxxAmaya darted between the trees, whizzing left and right until Airell's flames vanished behind her.
xxxxxxA little blue girl collapsed to her knees. "Mama!" she wailed. "Mama!" But the Fey around her did not stop. They had become cruel in their haste to survive.
xxxxxx"Hold on to me," Amaya barked. She wrapped her arms around the small girl, who clung to her with a grip that was unexpected of such a small creature, and ran.
xxxxxx"This way!" she called out to the faeries fleeing aimlessly through the woods. "There's a path that leads out of the forest into a human Walmart and cave on the way should we need to hide. Follow the trees with the crawling vines and blue flowers until you near a small ravine. Quickly. Quietly."
xxxxxxThe Fey stumbled through the darkened woods, a petite Summer faerie emitting a tentative glow to illuminate their path. Amaya looked over her shoulder to see the faeries who had stayed behind to fight the invasion, and those who were sprawled on the ground. They were much too still.
xxxxxx"Found you."
xxxxxxAmaya twisted, flinging the small child forward and into the thicketβ€”better bruised than deadβ€”as Airell lobbed a dozen black arrows toward her with nothing but a thought.

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