Welcome to Gaia! ::

A place such as this one is not quite suited to kimeti. Huge knotted mangrove roots serve as platforms and bridges over a nearly opaquely-green lagoon choked with duckweed, but they're not .. quite .. big enough. The gaps in between the roots are just a touch too big to give confidence that even the most careful of leaps will connect. An unlucky or clumsy wanderer could end falling through, becoming completely soaked in duckweed that turns even the brightest of coats into a uniform green.

Luckily for Wood Spider, she needn't risk leaping from root to root. Busy, nimble foxbun hands can fit perfectly well into the nooks and crannies of rough cypress bark. It's a simple thing to pull herself up along one root and make her leaping, bounding way from branch to branch, keeping to the interwoven tangles near the water's surface in places that no kimeti could hope to ever fit.

She's heard tell from others (in whispers, or fond memories, or even in the occasional irritated snort of derision) about Swan. And she can remember memories of him, some of which aren't merely her own. But this is the place he is most often at, and she hopes he won't mind being bothered with questions -- she has a few, and sometimes it's best to go straight to the source.

Should he hear the foxbun approach, it is chittering to itself in a merry, amused way, nearly under its breath. It is a peculiar sort of creature; around its neck is a bird skull on a knotted, beaded thong, and it shakes a crest of matted, charm-woven hair out of its eyes. After a moment it gains the highest point of a huge root-arch and stands up on its haunches to look around.

The little foxbun quickly peers around -- decides that the arch it stands on is not entirely to its liking -- and then is off again, tiny hands and feet finding purchase where no kimeti hoof could ever fit. It runs along the tangled mangroves as if playing a foal's game, keeping neatly away from the water so not even a toe (or its tiny poof of a tail) gets wet. Only when it makes its way to one of the plateaus -- which is sizeable enough, it thinks -- does it shift shape.

The little brown and white foxbun shifts, and seems to melt away on the air; a moment later a slim mare appears, with the same crest of matted and curling hair interwoven with charms. Wood Spider, still unused to her reflection, glances from it up to the swan, and -- with tail lashing around her ankles and betraying her request -- tips her head. Beads and a small bone click in her hair and then brush against her shoulder. "I was hoping you'd have a moment to talk."

Up close, the mare smells like some of the fragrant wood resins found in remote corners of the swamp. Shaking her mane of hair out of her face, still unused to it, her silence is punctuated by a rustling and clicking before she looks him over, takes a breath, and speaks -- taking special care to avoid mentioning that this is the very first place she has come after awakening .. changed.

"I thought I would find another -- chosen like myself," Spider says. "There aren't many. And nothing could have prepared me," she says; she shivers, a soft rippling of her coat, and then stands with ears pricked interestedly forward. "And somehow I -- I knew to come here. To this beautiful place."

If Spider notices -- which is questionable -- she's either too polite or still too shell-shocked to say anything. She watches him rise out of the water, and then wheels around in a circle on the plateau -- looking more like a filly than a mare. "Yes. Two days ago, I think. I woke up on the side of a stream; I don't even remember falling asleep." Spider looks worried for a moment, but then seems to shrug. "But this has been -- beyond anything I can even conceive of. I know why. I was told. But it's different to know and to do."

At first, Swan's recounting of his memories, both those his own and not, is met with a look of wide-eyed, frank fascination. Conversations with phantom, non-existent kimeti? Remembering things that never happened in places that -- Spider isn't quite sure she's ready for all of this. Happily peddling totems and charms (that worked most of the time, but not always) was one thing; being so completely connected to the Swamp that she has woken up in beds of springy loam -- even when she went to sleep on bare earth -- since being Chosen is entirely another.

Where Swan has all of the dignified grace of an owlcat, Spider looks more like an eaglehound puppy: all long legs and good intent, but none of the focus. Self-conscious, she finally settles down next to him, tail switching behind her; the berries woven into it leave long red streaks across the wood. "I have. Just one -- I found a doe and her buck in her garden." Spider remembers this clearly -- the green doe and the violet buck, and all of those beetles. All of them. "She didn't ask. But I knew it would make her happy to have a large clutch. At least I hope so."

Swan will know what happens when the memory fades and Spider is staring at him as if he's grown another head -- or perhaps she looks past him. It seems as though she gazes at the space just between his ears, where the last of the Acha swirl away into the sunset, and the Totoma disappear within the clouds of steam produced by their blood. A moment later Spider's brilliantly-blue eyes clear and her gaze sharpens on Swan's face -- she shifts on the platform again, switching her tail against the wood, and then sighs. "...that was a remembrance, wasn't it?"

Finally she huffs -- not in annoyance at him (for how could anyone be annoyed at charming, genteel Swan?) but at herself. There's so much she doesn't know. "I haven't had any dreams yet. I've gone to sleep on bare earth and woken up on moss and loam, I know things I didn't before, but I've had no dreams. I haven't even seen another kimeti beyond the one I blessed."

Spider lurches to her feet again, unfolding them, as long-legged as a filly; she possesses grace she simply did not have before becoming Legendary. With her tangled, charm-woven hair falling into her eyes, she regards the duckweed beneath her feet. If the water weren't so choked with duckweed, she could see herself in it -- somehow this seems important. She tosses her head, and bones and beads clink together, disturbing the silence. "Then it seems I'll have to see what I can dredge up," she says; her tone is musing. "I know nothing of the kiokote. Or whatever else. The others ones -- their blood on snow."

After a moment, she blurts out, "The Totoma. They-who-live-in-the--" She pauses. "The cold? They're coming," she finishes, and then turns to look across the grotto.

--

Bitterleaf will find that despite his love for talk, Longstride has proved himself an excellent traveling companion. When the sand of the beach gave way to the swamps that Longstride no longer called home, he still proved himself adequate. He has been a silent blonde ghost at Bitterleaf's right flank, seemingly completely focused on movement and travel. His breathing only changes when they run up steep inclines or must compress all of their energy into leaping over a ravine -- otherwise, clearly this is what this buck was born to do, and he does it well.

Only when they stop to eat or rest does he grin his jaunty, wolfish grin at Bitterleaf -- as if she had asked him to prove something, which must be infuriating -- and then settle down for the night, making light conversation in his rough voice. He has learned, however, that certain looks of Bitterleaf's require silence -- another thing he has learned to do well.

When they finally make their way to the grotto Swan calls home, Longstride is liberally covered with duckweed, flecks of it reaching all the way up into his mane. Mud has been striped across his flanks, and the long silky fur that covers his hooves is now almost in dreadlocks; he does not seem to notice or mind. In fact, all of his attention is on the two figures across the clearing -- two kimeti, perhaps.

Two legendary kimeti, it looks like -- the white one, with his great white wings, must be Swan. The other one, slim and graceful as a filly, he has not heard of. Without even glancing to Bitterleaf, Longstride makes his way to stand on a wide arch of wood, fully out in the open, and directly within the path of Wood Spider's gaze.

He grins. "I'll be damned."

The look Longstride gives his traveling companion at her sudden hypocrisy is enough to almost tear a laugh out of Wood Spider -- instead, sensing that the doe is formidable indeed, she maintains her silence. A moment later, she tosses her hair over her ears and then nods a greeting. "I'm Wood Spider." Her voice shakes only because she must hold back laughter -- after a moment she disguises a sudden laugh by tossing her head. "It's nice to meet the both of you. I saw you coming."

Longstride blinks -- and then tips his head. "You're a Legendary, aren't you? Like Swan." Longstride gives Swan a sideways glance, perhaps seeing in him an incoming battle of wits, or mettle, or testosterone. Nobody is to flirt or irritate Bitterleaf without his permission -- and then the blonde buck stops short when he realizes just what he's thinking, and looks to his companion.

At this, Wood Spider can't help but laugh, and it tinkles across the clearing, merry and bemused. "Yes." Somehow it seems easier to deal with the buck than the doe; Spider is reminded of her own children, how blunt and honest and intense they are (at least two out of the three). If Bitterleaf really pays attention, she'll notice Spider glancing surreptitiously at her from time to time.