OPEN | Woodland Song

[itisforfeit.livejournal.com]

Who: Faramir and OPEN
What: Rangers Gonna Range
Where: The woods of Sobek Croix
When: the first days after his arrival
Notes: none so far
Warnings: He's out hunting, so, uh. Try not to look like a rabbit? :D


It is not that he is mistrustful because that is not his nature and if Boromir decided to pledge loyalty to Hellsing his heart would never allow him to doubt their integrity. Still, it is not in him to stay within the organization's walls for long, not until he has a better understanding of this place and not until he has sorted through all his thoughts and doubts and confusion. Until he can be at peace with the idea that there might be a reason for him to be here.

He mostly camps out, exploring and wandering the ranges of Sobek Croix' woods, hunting, thinking. Accepting to be here is hard. Coming to terms with the idea that he failed is hard. Not being with his Rangers any longer is hard, too, and should they not be here with him as they set out for Osgiliath together? Because that is what he assumes to be his fate. Faramir, too, must have fallen in battle. That it shall not be for him to know what is to be of Gondor and Middle Earth is probably the hardest of all. He can only try to imagine how that very feeling must have been like for his brother upon his arrival.

He is studying his CiD as well, still careful, respectful, watching the news and conversations unfold before his eyes while he sits by a small campfire in the evening, wondering how any of this is possible, getting edgier with each passing day, hungry for information. Clockwork and lightning. How does it all work? Once he is more accustomed, more at ease with his device he will set out and ask for libraries, schools, places of lore and knowledge.

For now he will keep roaming the district, collecting berries and mushrooms and testing out the new arrows made from Croix wood.

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[itisforfeit.livejournal.com]

Faramir sits down with him, looking more and more curious by the minute. "I never heard of beings called fae before. What are you? How do you live your life?"

[gifted-hands.livejournal.com]

Tadhg laughs softly; it looks as though he's met his match in inquisitiveness. "What are the fae? Now that's quite the question." Leaning back against a log behind him, he stretches his legs to one side of the fire. "My people take a myriad of forms, beings of the earth and air, of fire and water. Some say we came into the world before humans, while others believe that the mortals came first, and that the first fae took shape from their dreams and nightmares. Plenty of debate, but no certainty."

The flames' flicker reflects in the dark depths of Tadhg's eyes. "As for how we live, there are as many ways as there are fairies. Most left the mortal world a long age ago, but a handful remain, moving softly among humans who no longer know what we are or believe in what we can do."

With a ferret-sized huff, Dána scrambles down to the ground and starts casting about for discarded rabbit bones. The púca smiles at his little friend's single-mindedness and continues. "Me, I walk in both the daylight world and Faerie, making my living largely through my art. I craft in paint and canvas, metal and gems ... and magic."
For a moment, his expression turns somber. "At least that's how I lived back home."