QLFC - S3 - Round 4
Uh. so. This just about killed me. Also, if you're interested, this could definitely be connected to my other story, we'll bloom again
(looks at titles then run away)
(totally not self promoting)
Emotion used: surprise
Their forest is dark. Dark dark dark. Dark as night. Darker than the rest of their world. Light doesn't filter through to them easily here, but they like it that way with their world of grey and light and dark. It's always dark.
It's always slow, too.
The world doesn't move easily for them, and they have watched the strange two-legged creatures rise and fall and rise again, in a fanatic way.
Humans, they called the two-legged creatures.
Thestrals, they, in turn, were called.
...
The humans, they decided long long ago, were of an odd sort. Sometimes they would pass so close to them that they would brush right against the leather of their wings, and it would be like the thestrals were invisible because the humans wouldn't even flinch. And then, other times, the humans would jump, would scream, would make all kind of strange and loud noises.
How mysterious.
…
They remember that first human well. That human had come to their dark dark forest, stumbling and staggering about and making all sorts of noises, when it had come upon a single thestral with a wild air to its actions.
That thestral (but really, that thestral was all the thestrals, because what they saw was what everyone saw, and what they heard was what everyone heard) had been enticed out with the thick, heady scent of blood that was gushing a beautiful gray out of its arm. It emerged from the shadows that served as their protectors, and gazed peacefully at the thing.
Strange creature, that thestral had squawked, in the high pitched tones of their language. They moved closer to see better, nudging and licking at the human's arm.
That human had gone white. It was the colour of the sunlight filtering through to the darkest parts of the forest.
Bright, the thestral said. And then:
A high pitched shriek, unlike the ones the thestrals used to communicate with each other. Even they could tell that this foreign creature was scared, not unlike prey, for reasons unknown to them. After all, they hadn't made any threatening movements or actions. So, why?
Wide eyed, white eyed, the human fled. The thestral padded quietly after— not chasing, but licking the blood droplets that the human left in its wake. Later, they found another one of its kind; one who wasn't moving or breathing.
It was dead.
That thestral signalled the rest of its herd, and together they grazed on the still fresh remnants of the corpse.
…
At one point, something changed.
It was a slightly difference, almost imperceptible, but they could sense it. Their forest grew smaller. It was a strange occasion, but nothing too horrible. Then, the next day, it grew smaller again. Humans, hordes of them, slowly and all at once, started wandering into and around their forest. And then, and then, the humans took some of them out.
The thestrals, puzzled and confused, let them. After all, they were all connected and they had never explored the world outside of their forest. They had never bothered, being safe and comfortable in their little world.
This was an interesting and unique opportunity, and so the herd mutually agreed to let them all go. They didn't much like fighting, and the metal things that the humans had looked sharp and dangerous.
And through those escaped thestrals they viewed the world as never before. It was all still grey and light and dark (it always was) but it was different.
It was wondrous strange, with other winged beasts and creatures that looked like them, except without wings. There were the humans, different humans, with the hum of ancient magic that ran through their blood. Those were the ones that claimed them as their own. Those were the ones that took them across land, chained them to the earth and without flight, where they were prodded at and hurt sometimes.
It hurt. Sometimes it hurt so badly that the forest thestrals, still peaceful and painless, shut off their minds sometimes.
This was where the Great Split began.
The shared hive mind between the forest thestrals and the outer thestrals began to dissipate, lessen, and then it was gone.
They do not forget this.
…
Their forest is still dark, but it has become smaller. It's shrunken, been destroyed and changed to something that they almost cannot recognize.
It is raining that day, like the sky is mourning for its loss. They don't blame the humans, nor hate them, but still, they spend many days in grieving for their world and their herd that was taken from them.
Still, they must survive. Blood, they smell blood, and so they send a thestral to the edge of the wood, where a human encampment lies alone. The shadows do not protect them here anymore; there is no tree to cover them.
Out of the wilderness they go, and out there, they come across a human, with sunlight in its hair and a startled face. It flinches back in momentary shock, before stilling.
Neither of them moves. The human is wide eyed and startled, and the image imposed itself on their memory of something older and similar. They watch her closely, in the light and gray and dark world, waiting as she too inspects them.
Finally, "Hello," it whispers.
The human, they realize is similar to their first human. The thestrals blink their wide, white eyes at her. The human is… different. A good different. The thestrals shift, relax, and feel a small happiness blossom inside their breast.
Change is coming. They snort at her, before turning to leave.
They already love her, just as they've loved all the others, and just as they always will.