A bird had alit on the crown of her head, its tiny talons prickling her as it hopped. It chirped, whistled out a short burst of song, some tiny bit of sunlight, and she felt her lips curve upwards. Gently, she raised one hand, flat-palmed, her fingers a mess of twigs and angled wood, in an attempt to coax it forward, to feel the fluttering heartbeat of it in her hands. Instead, the bird startled, flew, was gone. Ah. Her arm dropped, empty. "Eirkrynhollan'icthcynori," the Elder spoke, and his voice sighed and creaked and groaned under the slight weight of her name. For a moment, she wondered how her name might sound when spoken with reverence, in the sweet, hushed tones given only to the names of the Elders. But, she only allowed herself a moment for such fantasy. Other matters were pressing, weighing down on her. The light dappled down around them, slow and golden, dripping off of leaves to fall, gracefully, onto the small circle gathered below. Everything was still, an organic stillness, full of small movements: the wind through the underbrush, the tiny quick steps of beetles, the slow life of growing things. Tall and tall and tall, the Elders stood, half-ringed around the smaller Warder. It was a tribunal of sorts, a judgement. She was the newest, the smallest construct, and she had been found wanting.

"Eirkrynhollan'icthcynori." Their voices rose and swirled around her, a wind that carried melancholy on its breath. She sighed, and forced herself to remain still, although her fingers longed to reach up, to touch the flowers that grew on her shoulders - a reassurance that she was still one of them. "We... are not... disappointed, young one." They spoke slowly, in unison, each word measured out in molasses spoonfuls of purpose. And she knew in her heart that they were not disappointed - instead, it was simply that the Elders were slow to emotion, slow to speak, slow to decisions. Eventually, they would arrive at disappointment. It was a destination she did not think fondly of. Eirkrynhollan'icthcynori knew what this meeting was about; she was being sent far away - for correction, for improvement. Her trial had alreayd come: a carnival, funnily enough. Perhaps, somewhere, one of these Warders wondered if it had been their hands that had misplaced something in her. She was not skilled in any of things she was supposed to be.

Warders do not complain, they do not speak as quickly as she, saving their movements to frighten humans. They do not become so lost in fantasies that they forget to scare. Eirkrynhollan'icthcynori was quick to emotion, quick to speak, the words tripping out of her mouth like stones skipping across the glassy surface of some undistrubed lake. Maybe she had been constructed incorrectly, some part of her missing - the part that slowed, that made a Warder's steps deliberate and carefully chosen. She did not think thoroughly enough except at the wrong time - when she needed to react. She was backwards, as though she were made of the odds and ends discarded from the creation of others. "I am being sent away? To the place from before? Amityville? It is because I am not skilled enough. And I will gladly go-" Not gladly, not really. But she would go; there was no choice here, no matter how much they all pretended there was one. "-but must it be now? I think perhaps I have more to learn here, under your tutelage. I think-" Kairifyrn'ahournbaktaciyrn raised one hand, stilling her words. She felt very, very small. An ant in the company of giants.

"See... it is... in this. You.. show your youth, Eirkrynhollan'icthcynori." It was not an admonishment, but a reminder. He did not explain further, instead letting his deep, sonorous voice fade into the not-quite silence of the forest. He knew, everyone knew he did not have to explain. The young Warder's voice gave away her flaws. The very way she spoke, lightly, quickly, complaints hidden under every vowel: it was unseemly. In the next few hours, she did not speak, and she voice was not missed. Instead, the slow, deep voices of the others filled the forest, blending in with the birdsong, the wind in the leaves, even the quiet noise of sunlight and clouds. Eirkrynhollan'icthcynori would attend Amityville, and not return until she had graduated, in the hopes that an education would ground her, provide her with the gentle levity that came so naturally to the other Warders. She would learn to frighten, and not to lose her way along the paths of her own mind. And, they reminded her again, she would not be Eirkrynhollan'icthcynori there, but Hollandaise. The Elders laughed, a rare thing, and said that a Warder's name is difficult for most. When they finished, she let the lengthening silence wrap around them; the sun sank slowly.

"I understand," Eirkrynhollan'icthcynori, no Hollandaise, said finally. She had known this was coming, and so she would go to Amityville, and she would learn, and she would not be a failure anymore. ...she would try. Her eyes glowed briefly before she closed them, a sigh shuddering the leaves along her arms. The forest, her forest, her home, seemed suddenly less welcoming, less warm. Hollandaise could not, would not come back here. Not until they could be proud of her. A thread of guilty excitement raced through her chest in spite of her apprehension. All of the students from the carnival - they were brighter than this calm forest, interesting in their very difference. And there was... she had not let herself think of the strange ghoul and how they'd parted. She had called the dragon disgusting. She could go back, change things, rectify her hollow, ill-spoken words. Hollandaise felt disloyal in this excitement.

"Thank you... for this opportunity, Elders."



1 RP point