the Forest of Emmitaenu

Nice Flowers

[art by Valeria Bogado]

Lara, he thought in amazement. Even though he had since moved on to completing his task the reality of her presence continued to sink in. He had found the single most enthralling being in existence. What she was still confounded him and he hadn't come any closer to settling on any particular theory.

She could yield magic that much was certain. When he'd entered the clearing he could taste it suddenly enveloped as he was by so much magic concentrated in one place. Even Sol the Immortal Sun King had to have noticed.

Of course, if she was so powerful that the Immortals would take a closer look, he shouldn't feel so stunned to realize a lonely nomad and a tall demon would discover her. He had watched them approach through the trees as he stood nearby cloaked by the mask of runes he'd stenciled into the air.

Already they had known her name and she apparently recognized them. Their association only added to the mystery. Who were they to her? Lara, in all her perfection traveling side by side with an old nomad and a murderous demon. He spat on the ground in an attempt to purge the taste of fury filling his mouth.

Maybe Lara just didn't know any better. After all, it had been seven years ago the demons had killed his father in the war. For all he knew, Lara was still a child digging in her mothers' vegetable garden, utterly oblivious to the carnage outside of her own homey fences. He wondered where exactly it was she came from, somewhere perhaps where she could have enjoyed a pleasant childhood free of hatred and fear.

Not every child was forced to become the adult in the family by the age of ten. Maybe outside of Opal things were different. Maybe for the creatures of Emmitaenu who didn't grow up in a coven of witches life was different. Maybe Lara truly didn't know any better after all.

Reaching under his jacket he extracted a travel sack to hold the supplies he gathered. The bag was secured diagonally across his chest, looping behind his neck and over the opposite shoulder by a thin but sturdy braided cord. It wasn't large, but big enough to contain his findings and allow him the freedom of his hands when carrying it all back. A witch was handicapped without the freedom of his hands.

After retracing his steps back to the honeysuckle plant he collected a dozen blooms and packed them neatly inside. Pulling leafy stems as well to ensure he collected enough green to balance the sweets, he packed them carefully and tucked the bag back under his jacket against the right side of his body.

With an underutilized, idle mind his thoughts returned quickly to Lara. It was impossible for him to repress a smile when he remembered her falling blindly into his arms, unaware of how she needed him there at that moment and he unknowingly going to her as though by design.

The connection he felt was immediate and strong. Words weren't strong enough to explain it. The way she swayed into his embrace, them coming together in a perfect fit as if she belonged with him. He wanted to kiss her, impulsively, and hold her close but she jerked away in the same instant and he knew his impulses would only frighten her away. If he found her again, he would introduce himself and offer to court her properly.

"Lienkin, how are you?" Resonated the sing-song voice of Tres Dohis. He groaned as the words shattered the flow of his thoughts. Turning to face the tailors' daughter he found himself wishing for the millionth time that she would find someone else to pester.

Today she carried a handful of wild flowers probably plucked to their deaths on account of the fact they matched her ruffled lacy dress cut squarely over her bosom. Though her parents Tahj and Raye Dohis came from a distant land and joined Opal as the first generation of their bloodline, Tres had become the village jewel with her dazzling smile, doe eyes, shoulder length brown curly locks, and naïve charm.

Still as much as he understood her girlishness and love of flowers, he knew well enough that they were just an excuse for her to follow him outside of the village. He wanted to roll his eyes but managed to stop himself. As if she could track him, he'd already doubled back before she caught up to the honeysuckle plant. She shouldn't be out here considering she was the weakest witch in Opal but to be fair, she was also the youngest initiated witch in Opal.  At least for now, but even he knew that little Fantasia was stronger than Tres and she wasn't old enough to come to circles yet.

"Good day to you Tres," he greeted after a pause. She smiled even brighter and dared to blush as if he'd sought her out instead of the other way around.

He wanted to blame the tailors for letting her grow into the self-absorbed, materialistic damsel she was now. They were so strange.  When he reached fourteen, the day of his initiation the tailors gifted him a jacket, something that Opal had never seen before. Before then, everyone wore cloaks, but regardless of their differences everyone loved the clothing they made. He wore the jacket now and it had grown very familiar to him, but on the day that he received it Tres was the one to do the delivering. And since that day, she hadn't stopped visiting him.  She managed to smother him even more the year after once she completed her initiation.

"Will you walk with me back to the village?" She asked in the way only she could. He inhaled and exhaled slowly as he looked at her. She wanted to make it appear like he was courting her, but when she used that do-it-or-I'll-cry tone, he didn't dare to say no.

"Alright, but just this once" he told her. She jumped with delight and linked arms with him. "Nice flowers," was all the more he said and she took over from there, half speaking, half giggling her way back to the village while he wondered some more about Lara and how he could see her again.