The Beastkeeper's Bride

5: Blayne Leowyn of Draëll

5: Blayne Leowyn of Draëll

─── · 。ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

He watched the (human?) man stride into the edges of the ring of light provided by the fire with nary a care in the world, as if he hadn't traversed across an expanse of forest riddled with fae beasts who would not have hesitated to shred the skin from his back were it not for Blayne's machinations.

"You are either incredibly stupid," he remarked wryly, one hand lingering near the dagger sheathed at his hip, "or incredibly self-assured of your own abilities to ward off the beasts."

The man crooked an almost mischievous smile at that and came to a halt before the pit where the flames of the fire were contained. There was an air of nonchalance and mystery about him, and Blayne could not quite deduce if he were indeed human or not. The lateness of the hour, the ease with which he had entered the small property so deeply set within the forest, all suggested that perhaps this male was anything but, though Blayne had not met him before. Therefore, he was wary of the stranger.

Human or Other, a threat was a threat.

"You are remarkably difficult to find," the man said idly. "Been circling these woods for hours yet. Actually, that reminds me- my mount-"

"Your horse is safe," Blayne snorted. "My wards ensure it."

He nodded at that before implanting his hands deep into his pockets, staring into the flames before him impassively. "Blayne, is it? Or do you prefer your human name?"

"What do you think?"

The man's brows raised at that, a rueful grin on his face. Legally, he was known as James Woode. The documentation and bureaucratic paperwork this damn world seemed so intent to drown themselves with all stated as such. It had been a point of contention among his kind to be given humanised and remarkably Western names, as if the eradication of the namesake of his birth would make him more human, more like them. At the time, it had been classed as an action to transition the Others into human society more smoothly, but even as a child Blayne knew it for it was.

By taking away his name, a piece of his identity would be lost. The more of his identity he lost, the less connection he had to what he truly was, to where he belonged, and with all things lost, so were the bonds to his people. The more broken sense of self one had, the easier they were to control, manipulate, manoeuvre into a position that was acceptable.

He had little recollection of Draëll, the world from which he had been snatched from. The Reveal occurred suddenly, ripping him from his plane of existence when he was but a child, displacing him and so many others into an environment that did not welcome the newness and strangeness of the Other into their midst.

"Blayne it is, then," the man said, drawing him from recollections of his youth that were far from pleasant.

Instead, he tilted his head to the side slightly and considered the other man. The hour was late and his presence was unannounced. Were it not for the incessant chirping of the pixies that lingered near the edges of wooden walkway he had constructed around the peripherals of his territory, he would not have known of the man's presence until he had been within the bounds of the property. Suspicion lurked heavily under Blayne's skin, his distrust of most humans, and even faeborn, rooted deeply from his experience. "State your business," he demanded succinctly. "Then leave."

If the other man was perturbed by Blayne's bluntness, he hardly showed it. Rather he rocked back and forth on his heels a bit before procuring a pointed toothpick from his pocket and clamping it between his teeth. This he rolled about absently, as if distracted by his deep ponderings, then he studied Blayne with an almost amused expression on his face. "Allow me to introduce myself, my good man," he began cheerfully. "Name's Finnegan Holt, a representative on behalf of your subscription to Mrs Addilyn's Anxious Hearts Society matchmaking service-"