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Moulting


Keefy
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"Eve..everyon.."

 

Then nothing

 

"Shit"

 

He thought, as his body failed him and he hit the forest floor. A culmination of the day, may haps.

 

But then he awoke. He knew this.

 

This sensation brought about the long past memories of the first time, as he stared up at seemingly unending mountains from his one remaining eye.

 

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He'd start forward, wading through the untamed grass and heading his way towards the mountains. They called to him and so he would answer.

 

Every landmark forward carried a reminder.

 

A stags disappointed gaze from the distance. 

 

Wilted azaleas dotting the edges of the riversides he waded through.

 

Shadows that seemed to whip around and follow his stride.

 

The owls that watched from high.

 

He felt all too aware of them, and more. His failings and mistakes.

That which he failed.

That which he should not have trusted.

That which he failed to kill himself.

That which he continued to fail to live up to.

 

More fell upon him as the snowfall began while he crested past the beginning of the hike. 

But amongst the bad, his personal failings, came the good.

 

Bears plenty waddling into their dens. Raccoons and other animals doing the same.

The snow itself, barely giving him a bite of cold. A mountain lamb watching with untold patience.

The very same owls. The cats eye of snowy lynxes. Grand, sleepy moose.

 

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Why now? What happened?

 

He let a hand drift against the side of colossal trees, barren from the sheer cold. Clambering over towering roots like a child escaping a playpen. 

 

Was it the eye? He'd sacrificed before though. 

 

A gale pushed through him, and he took refuge in a cranny. Easily found thanks to the sheer size of the boreal giants that were the trees.

 

As he watched the snows, and settled in. He could swear he could see his own parents in the flurries. 

 

Impossible. They rested within the Skies. But in the sheer cold, he appreciated the sight. The assurance.

 

A dwarven runt alongside the six kids of their own, and they raised him no differently. They could have given him away.

 

Sent him to the Undermountain. He would have been different. 

 

Not Hareven. Not Bluejay. Not [________]

 

He'd wince as the last pulled through his mind and pulled himself together, wading further through the flurries to find himself upon a cliff. A ravine.

 

A body.

 

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His sight caught by it, pinned to the adjacent mountain. To the sword that pierced its chest.

 

Trying to press it from his mind as he made his way further up to the peak, blasted by the west winds and blades of frigid air.

 

He knew who it was though.

 

It was he, who he was. The old him, who had forgotten himself. And wrought so much damage to all he cared of.

 

Cause he thought he was better. That he could weather it all, handle it himself.

 

No matter how he turned and twisted upwards the Mountain, it never left his sight. 

 

Of course.

 

A penalty in his own vision.

 

But at last, he crested the peak, and held onto the single, unusual hand hold upon its snowy top.

 

chinese-plum-blossom-abstract-abstract-a

 

He grabbed the plum tree, and held himself upright.

 

He saw everything.

 

Every creature that relied on the mountain. Snowy foxes. Elk drinking of the rivers that flowed from its sides. Animals nested within the trees and caved adorned it.

 

Everything he'd seen on his climb up, from a new perspective.

 

The winds drove upwards, and he turned to see the skeleton of his past growing into a new forest. The blade rusting and turning into nothing but a fine, red dust.

 

The gales continued to turn his attention, noticing every little thing that had grown to rely on his mountain. And the others beside it. And likely, every other.

 

He grit his teeth, and came to fall onto his knees, letting out a bellowing cry as tears flowed from his remaining eye.

 

He let loose one bellowing cry. Aimed to the starry sky that rested above his head, to the full moon that adorned it.

 

And awoke.

 

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He pushed himself up from the soil he fell on, and noticed his squirrelish sister and hopheaded sister in law camped out nearby.

 

They couldn't move him in his stupor.

 

Together they gathered themselves up and headed home. Hareven carrying a new feeling within him.

 

He would always be himself. He'd always be Bluejay. That's where he started.

 

But from this moment forward.

 

He was the Brother of the Mountains.

 

And he'd do his upmost to be something that could support his druid kin.

 

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Blessed be.

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"Eve..everyon.."

 

That caused Rosalia to pull her attention from her sister, Nenar, to look at Hareven.

 

"Are you okay?" 

 

That was when Hareven just crumpled to the ground. Her eyes widened, unsure about what exactly was wrong with him. Whatever it was going on, since neither of them were able to move him somewhere else, the sisters sat with him throughout the night.

 

"Is this one of those Hareven things..."

 

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"Gods might be talking to him. Or something."
The other shrugged, confusion written over her tired features. Rather than leave despite the late hour, she settled her back against a tree.
"Going to make sure nothing eats him...And yeah, it's one of the Hareven things."

A pause.

"You get used to it."

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Unknowing of his dear friend's vision, struggles, and current revelations a 'ker not too far from the Tavern sat amongst a ring of flora that swayed to the rhythm of calming and sooth. His hands shook and mind in turmoil, most days, but today perhaps he sensed the change...and so he waited...meditated...thinking of the very friend that dreamed...

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