Welcome to Gaia! ::

Watch stoped momentarily, sniffing at the air, tasting it, before continuing. They had followed the river northward before leaving the familiar banks and traversing east. There were little paths here, any that had existed at one point were now clustered with briers and vines. Mud sucked at his hooves and thorns tore at his fur, spreading those light kisses of red on his pelt. All the while, the white buck never stopped smiling. After all, he was on a journey with the doe that carried his children. He held down a bunch of briers and looked back at her.

"This way, my lady. I think we're getting closer!" He grinned excitedly, "There has to be a Legend somewhere in these bogs."

Red eyes growing wide, Watch whipped his head around, ears twitching, trying to find the voice. His heart pounded, his breath caught. And then he saw her, a great mare painted for war. He turned back to look at Rain and, swallowing his fear and awe, stepped in front of her, raised his jaw, and loosed the the mare in the eyes.

"We do, indeed," He spoke respectfully, "This is her first clutch and mine as well. As for why... "

Cue barely spared a flicker for the buck, her burning gaze concentrated on the whispering doe. When she speaks, her voice is unnecessarily cold: "Many Kin grow strong and whole without a pair of parents - and that is for you, not I, to decide. All the things you did not have. All the things you have never experienced..."

Then her gaze broke, sweeping the horizon. "There," she lifted her head, "across the mire - you can just see it from here. That fruit." The bright orange of a ripe orb peeked through foliage, barely visible, but nevertheless present. It was not so far away - but the treacherous bog, deceptively calm with all hidden terrors lurking beneath, would make that distance feel insurmountable.

"Retrieve it."

"No, no," she interrupted impatiently as the buck reared to go, "not you - you. Or there wouldn't be a point. Come now."

(Sorry I took so long for a short post. <3)

Rain takes a step back from the mare, feeling as if she has almost been physically struck from the casual, frigid denial. What is she even doing here, covered in mud and asking for a blessing from a war-painted specter? This is foolish, this whole thing. How stupid of her to think that she could just ask for a blessing and expect to get it.

But there is a second chance. A fruit? The pale doe picked her head up and squints into the distance, too shocked to say anything. The bright orange rind is just barely visible. It's not far but then she realizes the land that must be crossed in order to grasp it. The bog. The bog that holds hidden muck that sucks down legs and stalking caiman waiting for fresh meat and a thousand other dangers, real and imagined and perhaps some that are both. Her heart sinks. The first voice within in her gasps, 'It is impossible! You can't!' Another voice, distant and muffled, asks, 'Who does she think she is, sending a pregnant doe through a dangerous bog to grab some fruit?' The first voice drowns out the second, but the murmur is there. The end of her tail curls and uncurls as she looks out over the mire and fights with herself without realizing it. When she looks back at the mare to accept, there is something in her eye. Anger? Defiance? She doesn't say. It's not even about the blessing anymore. This weathered old crone thinks that she can't do it.

Persimmon looks on, making no motion to go with her daughter. She knows that this is something the kimeti must do on her own. Watch is given a look before she sets off. 'Thank you,' it says. She doesn't trust herself to talk. Having her voice break again would be too much.

A path is picked carefully through the muck. With every step she tests the ground before putting her full weight down. Ears are vertical and alert even as sawgrass catches on her mane. Every shadow could be a caiman, every dark ripple could be a concealed mire pit. She is so high strung and hyper-alert that it becomes a state of distractedness. Her obsession with what could be there blinds her from what is actually there, and she ceases to pay complete attention. A small hoof is put down and something gives below her. With a gasp she sinks chest deep into a deep pool of fetid water. The rotted peat sucks in her hooves and the tannin-rich water stains her pelt and Watch is so far away and for a moment she panics before swallowing it down. 'No! Get up! Get up get up get up get up! GO.' A struggle is fruitless and exhausting and it takes all of her willpower to not flail helplessly as she pulls herself away from the embrace of the swamp. The muscles in her legs burn. The fruit! The fruit is so close!

A citrus fruit is plucked carefully from it's cradle. She had to half-climb into the stubby, thorny tree to reach it. The acidic soil has stunted its growth and twisted the branches, but the fruit still smells sweet and feels tender. Not like she would taste it though, not this fruit. She kneels on a precious spit of solid ground at the base of the tree for only a moment to gather her nerves. Go slow. Relax. Pay attention, one step at a time. There's a rhythm to this, she's learning. A different path is taken this time to avoid the pit that surprised her before, but she still holds the fruit up as high as she can to avoid knocking it in to anything that could break its fragrant skin.

Rain no longer cowers before the mare. Her body is stained brown from bog water and her hair matted with mud and her legs flecked with blood where the tree grabbed on, but the fruit is round and clean and perfect. It's placed gently at the matriarch's feet. She steps back to create a respectful distance and lowers her head. As the adrenaline wears off, she begins to realize how exhausting slogging through the bog really was.

"I have brought you the fruit."

Rain stands speechless as the mare melts back into the darkness. She didn't... the fruit... she didn't eat it. Why?...

The purpose of the fruit comes to her as the Motherfather's chosen speaks. As the mare vanishes, Rain's eyes turn back to the fruit, orange as a flame. The fruit... it wasn't the point. The mare never planned on eating it at all, she now realizes.

The doe picks up the fruit, gently. She's taking it back with her, and she smiles at Watch. It's a long walk, and she has a lot to think about.