Ten years after I began at Hogwarts, Sebastian Sallow is back. And he's Professor Sallow now. He disappeared after the fall of Ranrok and Rookwood, after I lost Professor Fig, and after Ominis and I couldn't keep him from losing himself. But I never...
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The first time I met Kai of the Forbidden Colony, weeks ago in the hall outside the Defense Against the Dark Arts tower, I was overcome by his presence. Indeed, I find every person I come into contact with has not only a unique voice by which I can recognize them without the gift of sight, but also a distinct gait, notable breathing pattern, and a general atmosphere they carry around with them.
After all, phrases like 'he could light up a room' exist for a reason.
Just as a fire can emit the energy of heat, so can an individual emit the energy of their heart and soul. The feeling of it varies – its very essence. And the distance of it varies as well. Some people hold their energy close to themselves. The feeling of Madame Scribner – sharp-edged and close-to-the-vest – comes to mind. Some people's atmosphere extends far beyond themselves like Professor Ronan who fills every room to the utmost corners with exuberance.
Recent conversations with Sebastian have taught me that Buddhists refer to this as an aura or an auric field. And perhaps that's what it is, who's to say.
It is an interesting thought exercise to consider if I had to describe those of my loved ones. April's atmosphere feels to me like that of a sunflower. It is warm and wide-spread with smooth edges. It is outward-facing with a rather indescribably unpredictable quality, but not in an unsafe way.
Anne's close-distanced atmosphere, by contrast, feels so very soft with a fuzzy quality. But it pulses with anxiety. It reminds of a bunny with its lovely fur but the animal's rapid little lungs or twitching whiskers give you the feeling it might leap from your hands at any moment.
Appropriately, I'd be inclined to compare Sebastian's energy to a Scottish thistle. It is both close- and wide-spread and, though entirely natural to itself, it is other-worldly in the way it bursts out in seemingly random starts from the center. It appears prickly, but isn't. And if one really spends the time they would learn the way it bursts outward has an order and a logic that reveals itself to you, in time. One simply has to care enough to notice.
And Thiago? Dear heavens. Home, incarnate. He is capable of extending his energy as needed, and often does for another's sake, but he keeps it relatively close when left to his own devices. His atmosphere feels like the draw of a warm bath that pulls you near to its source with the warmth and humidity and lovely clean scents. It's an energy that makes one feel they might finally be safe.
But Kai's presence and, as it turns out, the presence of almost every centaur I've met today is something quite remarkable, defined in similar ways as human kind and not at all, thank goodness, by smell – as I feared might be the case given my experience with horses. (Indeed, their centaurian coats have a distinct kind of warm, beastly scent to them as might be expected but I thank the heavens they don't smell as horses do!)
The quality of centaur voices resonates deeper in their massive chests than human voices do, which so often stifle themselves in a throat or nose. That, combined with their unique accents – vaguely English, but very much like a Danish gentleman I once met who was passing through Feldcroft – creates a sound that buzzes straight through my bones! Especially those with a deeper timbre, like Kai. Thiago says it doesn't affect him the same way. Perhaps it's because I'm so attenuated to listening closely.
