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White ears picked up the sounds of footsteps. Then, the small whinny of a horse. Wait...Now that didnt sound right... Her long face rose and violet eyes opened. There before her stood an old human. No, Liorne could sense his magic. A Mage. He could see what she was. Her violet eyes stared at him. He didnt seem to be a threat to her. She knew she could out run the Mage if she had to. The unicorn stood up.

She was the size of a normal mare, but her body was more slender. Her tail flicked behind her. Her curiosity got the better of her. She took a step forward. Liorne eyed the Mage's hand. "What have you got there?" She asked him telepathically. Sure, it might scare the Mage, but she just had to know. Was that where the whinny had come from? Was there really a small horse in his hand? What had happened?

Lirone took another step closer. Hopefully this Mage wouldn't hurt her. or worse, try to capture her. She stamped her foot down, but not in a threatening way. The unicorn wanted to know if the whinny came from the hand. It did. Again, the small pony whinnied at her. She shook her head and her silvery mane bounced around. "How odd...."

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Never Going Back To You

My Twilight by Stephenie Meyer Fanfic.

Bayside Marin Rehabilitation OOC

JOIN PLEASE!!

It was pure happenstance that she fell over the books. If she’d not been what she was, she wouldn’t have fallen on them, actually. Nor would her hand have shot out into the road and burned her palm and forearm. Roads, despite how often the humans used them, weren’t very pleasant things to a creature like her.

That was why she got all of the farm jobs. She wasn’t one to go into the cities. Her skin was too delicate. She sucked on the burn on her hand, licked it a few times and sighed as she flipped open the pages. The books reeked of magic. Simply drew magic into them, then breathed it back out. It was an ordered type of magic, but then it wasn’t as if she were completely untamed. She could manage some ordered magic here and there.

It felt good, actually. She couldn’t read a lick, but it felt warm and nice and bubbly around her skin. She shivered and tittered softly and swept them up in her arms. Infusing her with delight, the books seemed to get smaller as she hefted them and then put them into her pocket.

There were no words. It was merely magic and magic. In a way, she moved the magic as a brook might move a water skin. Order and non order, the pair were the same. Except for roads.

She didn’t like roads. She hissed softly and then with a bitonal hum, much like the sound of a humming bird and a song sparrow mixed, she tripped further down the roadside until she hit the crossing. Scampering up a tree, she danced along the overreaching branches into the one opposite, old oaks and locusts, she loved them so! With a pat of good humor to the spiny locust, the slender girl, dressed like a peasant’s child, melded in with shadows and was gone, eastward. She had a tale to tell and she needed a good audience.

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‘What will my death be like?’ he thought- and knew at once
with abrupt certainty, that it would be just like his life:
... the same balance of bearables.
~Amis

Well that's unusual.

"It certainly is," Rowan Meredith murmured, staring down at the King in the courtyard below. With his one remaining eye, he squinted through the piercing glare of sunlight glancing off the garden's various metal statues and fountains and glorious golden men with capes and dramatic expressions. The guards and the prisoner they were previously accosting were all now gaping cluelessly at their liege and ruler. From this high up in the castle, he couldn't see the looks on their faces, but they weren't hard to imagine.

A gentle wind carried the sweet aroma of the flowers below up to the window ledge Rowan sat on. One foot propped against the opposite side of the window, and one hanging carelessly several dozen feet above the ground, he sat motionlessly as the breeze teased his long, dark-yet-graying hair and ruffled the fabric of his silk surcoat. He had been there for hours. A window in the winding halls of one of the east towers where no one ever wandered unless they were lost, curious, or looking for some hidden magical artifact the royal family had been stowing which might conveniently save or doom the world. Not that Rowan was aware of any such artifact, but there might have been one.

"I wonder what his name is," Rowan pondered to himself, rubbing his chin.

You mean, you don't know?

"Don't you?"

No reply.

"I knew his brother's name." Rowan's gray eye wandered away from the scene in the courtyard, gazing aimlessly at the trees and the sky and the village beyond the royal grounds. The landscape did not perform or entertain as it typically should have. Rowan didn't find himself inspired by its beauty or tempted by its mystery or frightened by its hidden threats. It was simply trees, buildings, and clouds slithering across the dull blue expanse. "Tom or Tim or Paul or Raul or Ganthorp or Thudrump or Hulluhoth or Gawain or something like that."

Really.

"No." Rowan tilted his head as a sheepish smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "I never bothered to ask those sorts of questions. Didn't seem to have any bearing on me. Pretty embarrassing now that I live in the same building as the king of Gyrii. Never saw that coming."

That was pretty narrow minded of you.

Rowan responded with a breathy mix between a chuckle and a groan. "What do you know?"

I know you won't know how to address him once you meet him.

"Well that's easy. I'll call him my King or Your Highness or my Liege or something similarly horrid and trite." He dug into his lip with his thumbnail and clicked his tongue against his teeth. "Maybe, 'Your Great and Noble Oneness.' Or I could really pile it on. 'Your Complete and Indubitable Lordship of All Things'."

Your Highness and Worshipfulness. Your Total and Kingly Royaliness.

"Is that a word?"

No. Maybe you should be less traditional. Your Perfectly Formed and Handsomeness. Your Golden Brown Hairedness.

Rowan narrowed his gray eye, both eyebrows scrunching together. His left eyelid, though mostly obscured by the black tendrils of hair that deliberately covered it, hid only a black hole behind it. The eyelid wasn't completely closed, but it never completely opened.

As high up as he was from the ground, and from the amount of light flooding his ocular nerve, Rowan could not tell the color of the King's hair. "Your Perfectly Positioned Noseness."

Your Deep and Thoughtful Eyesness.

"Your Young and Energetic Vigor-ness."

Your Royally Overweight and Absolutely Stupidness.

Rowan threw his head back and released a loud, involuntary cackle. He hit his head against the window's stone archway he was leaned against, but the merriment that tickled his chest persuaded him not to care. He dabbed at his eye expecting to find tears, as after a minute and a half, Rowan finally managed to calm himself. "Oh that's not at all proper."

Since when have you cared about proper?

The gleeful expression the man had been wearing only a moment ago melted away. Clearing his throat, Rowan forcefully changed the subject. "Isn't the King due at a meeting?"

They're supposed to be updating him on the doom of Gyrii and your recent hire as one of his advisers.

"That's right." He frowned. Glancing away from scenery that lied beyond the window, he stared at the stone of the window's archway, particularly at the different colors of the various minerals that made up the slate gray surface. "They didn't call it an adviser. They used the term 'royal consult.'"

You barely paid attention. But yes, they did avoid making you sound like the king's lackey they've turned you into.

"Mhm. I did pick up that much." Rowan's left sleeve flickered and danced to the wispy song of the breeze. Just as his left eye was missing so was one arm. A man in his late forties, he somehow managed to not to look quite so crippled or dilapidated in the sun's lively gleam.

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-Twelve hours prior.-

"So you're demoting me," Rowan sighed, glaring halfheartedly at the two rotund men in loud and colorful outfits that appeared to be designed by the same tailor who made motley for court jesters. As ridiculous as it looked, the cloth shimmered and flowed as extravagantly as any outfit paid for by the Meredith family's money.

"Don't be ridiculous, my Lord," the thinner man (emphasizing that the word "thinner" is being used as a very relative term) groaned. He used a melodic, arrogant tone as if he were speaking to a child. "This is not an occupation. You can't be 'demoted.' This is just... a shift in responsibility."

"Something better suited to your abilities." The fatter one nodded.

Rowan pushed his fingers across his forehead. He closed his eye and gritted his teeth. "I'm better to fit to tell a young inexperienced King what to do instead of manage the Meredith region? My region?"

The thinner man spoke up again not even a second after Rowan completed his last syllable. "Please don't take it personally, my Lord. It's simply that, in recent years, you seem to have become... less stable."

"Unstable." The fatter one agreed.

The aging Lord ran his fingers through his hair slowly, yet over and over again, as the two men explained how much better the region has been governed during Rowan's extended absence, and its supposed decline since his return. He was listening. Sort of. Not quite. But he got the picture.

"Technically, you will still be Lord Rowan Meredith," the fatter one said. "But we would prefer if you did not enter the Meredith region. Or tell anyone in your manor or in your lands about your displacement to the King's castle."

"We would also prefer you to stay within the castle walls." The thinner one's bulk shook as he gestured wildly with his thick arms how one would stay within a castle.

The meeting had lasted for four hours. Rowan at one point had fallen asleep. At other points he had outright laughed at the two men. But ultimately his fate had already been decided and was quite out of his control.

His eyes widened when the unicorn not only stood, but stepped towards him. He knew instantly that the animal had perceived his more educated sight and realized that he knew what it was. He almost thought of bowing to the creature, for he knew he was truly blessed.

His eyes misted over in awe when he heard the unicorn's thoughts. "My... lady," he said gently, unsure of how to address the creature before beseechingly holding out his hands to the marvelous creature. "It was... an accident. Completely unintended if you're wondering," despite his age and former casualty approaching most situations, he was stuttering like a startled child caught doing something wrong.

"My lady," he said again, inclining his head. "Truly, I am blessed with the presence as one such as your own," he murmured. Gods there were so many questions he could ask, it was a thrill to be communicating with a unicorn. Something so delicate, so feral, and yet so intelligent. He looked up, tentatively seeking to meet its own equine gaze, seeking the intelligence he knew roamed there. His hands ached to reach out, to touch that sleek pelt, though he held himself in dire check.

He doubted the unicorn wanted him dawdling over her, as old men were wont to do with things that amazed them.

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I will not kill you... in all technicality time will kill you. I'm just a contributing factor ~ Damarian Vasilis Zaccheo

I do not get moody. I get murderous ~ Saigyn

[A Guest?] ~ Advanced -Arlix-
[The Five Lights] ~ Advanced -Laeris Etheral Jostish- -Valcenz-
[Dove's Bane] ~ Advanced -Alloyscious Haryiel-
[Labyrinth] ~ Advanced -Triton Ochayne Demisou-

Karimlan tried to slow down her breathing. She stood behind a huge tree trunk, soaked with mud and the Lords knew what. Her clothes stuck to her skin like a second one, stains and tears decorating it. Brown water eddied slowly around her booted knees. She was sinking deeper into the muck even as she stood as still as she could. She wouldn’t have, of course asked for any help or moved to anywhere at all. She thought that she would risk surviving the swamp floor’s deadly embrace than face the creature that lay happily purring behind the tree.

The trees in the swamp formed a certain canopy that obscured almost all traces of sunlight. It could have been midnight for all the good the lighting of the forest did her. She remained plastered to the tree root despite the fact that she felt things slither on her. She was now a part of that tree, and trees did not shake off scaled creatures crawling on them. Trees did not breathe. Trees did not talk or cry. Trees did not move unless the wind blew and there was not even a trace of that.

She had been in a myriad of situations where being completely invisible was the key to life and death. This however, takes the cake.

She was born, brought up and trained in battle. Her father was a knight and her mother a medicine woman. The first thing she had ever seen was her father in full armor because they were in the middle of a battle when her mother gave her life. Her first toys weren’t dolls or cooking units but swords and medicine kits. Her first lessons weren’t how to tend the house, or play an instrument or be a proper woman. Her first lesson was how to hack if people approached her tent when her father was out in battle. She almost smiled. Hack now ask questions later. She learned how to kill and hunt even before she learned doing her braids.

Her father had taught her well and good. He taught her to trust her instincts and right now they told her to stay very still because the monster on the other side of the tree was not something that she can survive.

She had walked in on it happily slicing... or perhaps dicing is more appropriate term, the arm of a man. A living, groaning man in pain. It sat on his middle, somehow incapacitating the man who looked like a strong hunter. The creature had the looks of a human with slight but very effective alterations. It had black eyes larger than a human’s. It wasn’t chocolate brown but the color of a moonless night. It covered most of the white of its eyeball. Next thing that caught her attention were the claws the creature had. They were long and, judging by the man’s painful cries, sharp. The creature was pale, with an almost blue tinge to the skin tone. It had long silver hair sleeked back from its face. The ears were long and pointed. It had a pair of what would seem like dragonfly wings and a tale with a very sharp end to it. It was also slightly smaller and more compact than a human. Was this what a faery looked like?

Karimlan ignored the pain on her cramping muscles. She almost jumped when the creature spoke with a surprisingly human voice. “You filthy humans. How dare you enter my woods and waste so much. You hunt for the sake of hunting and hurt even the young ones. I will also skin you alive as you have done them, I will maim you as you have them with your traps. I will, however feed you to them. I will honor your remains as you have denied the creatures you killed and left to rot. I am not as cruel as you creatures are.” the female voice all but purred. “Ready?”

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...some people are only alive because it is illegal to kill them...

As the village came into sight, Nadya sat back into the saddle, bringing the horse to a stand still. Luca, the little boy, protested loudly. Rolling her eyes, Nadya looked back at him, which was enough to stop the flow of pleas to canter again and go really, really fast. ‘We should wait for the others’ His dark eyes gazed back at her, the obvious question lingering in them ‘why?’. She could imagine he would enjoy a rather sensational entrance. ‘Sorry Luca. I promise I will take you for another ride before I leave though.’

She preferred to arrive with the Roma, set up camp with them, to join them in their activities, their trade and their festivities. She knew after setting up camp, the villagers would already be watching. The craftsmen, vendors and shepherd’s in their band of travellers would approach the villagers for trade and business. Teenage girls would knock on the door of the fortune-teller’s carriage to have their hands or tea leaves read. Others would gather round for the artists, the performances of seductive dance or breathing fire and it wasn’t until late in the coming night that everyone would gather round the fire to listen to the storyteller telling the legends of far away and long ago. Then the music would begin and there would be singing and dancing deep into the night. Her part in all of this was small, though she felt more involved with every town they visited. She could in with the girls to dance, or lead their dance with singing. She helped with all the small things and only stopped with the festivities to listen to the storyteller Besnik. His stories would always her attention and feed her imagination, leaving her to think about them for days. She wondered where they had come from. It was doubtful he had come up with them on his own, but some were so extraordinary she just couldn’t imagine where they had come from, what they were based on or how he could’ve known about them. Then again others were so old and they must have evolved with the ages they were passed on from storyteller to storyteller. IT was no use thinking of their origin because the story itself would be over before you would know it and then the guitar would sound and vocals would chime in and everyone’s concentration was pulled from the story for that time.

And during their stay everyone would try to keep the frail balance as the tension grew with every hour they remained in the village. Fresh rumours would be spread and of course everyone at each side would be straining to keep their composure. And then their stay would come to an end, all the trading done for this year and once again they had managed to maintain the peace as the moved on to the next village. And with that her journey would take a new turn.

The rest of the gypsies had reached them and together they moved into the village. As the other set up their camp on a clearing at the edge of the small town. She had fallen back to the last of the group, deep in thought. In this trail of thoughts she gazed toward the town, the farms surrounding it. She allowed her horse calm walk down the path as their neared the town, the road got busier. She felt the eyes on her, in a twisted mix of distrust and curiosity. The best thing she could do was to simple smile back and not get worked up about them. She could understand how they felt. She looked at the house in front of her, the first of the town. It was a small farm with a field occupied by an old plough horse and it’s owner already out to fetch it. As she and Luca passed the man and horse, she nodded politely. ‘Good day sir.’ She felt Luca move behind her, clearly ill at ease.

Gwenyth was halfway home when she realized about some preperations that needed to be made. She had promise to set out her best flowers around the great hall to brighten the room of a great dinner that would be held. It seemed time had gotten away from her and she would be late to the dinner, but she had to hurry back and gather a collection and bring it to the great hall.

She turned around and headed straight for the gardens entrance avoiding the entrance where the king was. She had no time to be distracted by his person and needed to collect her best.

She entered the garden and saw a few of her hand helpers already at working picking her best.
"Alicia! Thank goodness you are already here! I have no time to look presentable and place these flowers in the great hall... I picked the priority." She winked and smiled at her young help. Alicia was only thirteen years of age and already aspiring to put Gwenyth out of business.

"Oh Gwenyth, don't be silly, Grandmother has you a gown and wishes you to attend the dinner." Alicia laughed at her mentors shocked face. Gwenyth had been working very hard lately and Alicia's Grandmother (the Grandma was like a grandmother to all the castle inhabitants for she lived there so long to be a mother to them all) had wished she take the evening off.
"You go see grandmother and she'll show you the beautiful dress she made. You don't want to disappoint her do you!?"

Gwenyth barely had much time to respond for Alicia had whisked her away and in less then a half hour she was dressed and beautiful as ever. She was wearing a beautiful gown, the best she's ever owned. "Now dear," Grandmother spoke softly, "Go towards the hall and enjoy yourself. Who knows maybe you will sit close enough to see the king." At this Gwenyth's face went red and she watched as grandmother giggled at her facial expression. "Go!"
With no other choice, Gwenyth left to the great hall.

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“For every beauty there is an eye somewhere to see it. For every truth there is an ear somewhere to hear it. For every love there is a heart somewhere to receive it."
Ivan Panin

Beauty From Your Pain
*Coming Soon

Brophar rode on still, the last rays of the sun behind him slowly disappearing as nightfall's black hands seized the world. The steady clippety-clop of his mud-brown steed's hooves was slow and quiet now, for the knight did not wish to risk his horse stepping in a hole and breaking its leg. In the solitude of the forest, he dared allow himself a loud yawn. The earlier battle had been invigorating, as a good deed should be, but Brophar was still quite fatigued. The dulling fingers of sleep crept up on the knight in his saddle, and within minutes he found himself having to shake his head to stay awake. With a tremendous blast of willpower, he balled his fists and scowled, pushing back his fatigue. There was no way this brave warrior, noble knight and bold defender of the kingdom would ever do something so dishonourable and straight out unmanly as dozing off!

When he woke up, he'd almost ridden over an old man who seemed to be in need of a good trimming of the 'ol facial hair. He also seemed to be in grave need of a pair of glasses or some sort of hearing aid, since he did not appear to have noticed the knight coming. In fact, the robed old creature seemed almost transfixed, staring at something off the road. Brophar considered wondering what it was, but realized he'd scarcely have time for the thought before he'd ridden the elderly gentleman into the ground, wherefore he quickly tugged at the reins.

The horse, who'd been quite happy to get some time to himself, to think about whatever horses might like to think about, was completely unprepared for the sudden tug. More specifically, it scared the poor creature shitless, and she reared, neighing in sudden fright. The knight had expected that sort of reaction from the lazy wretch of a mount, and remained easily in the saddle 'til the beast had calmed down. Raising a hand in greeting, Brophar called out to the wizard, "Ho there, wanderer! Who are you that travels the king's road this late ho...", he began, but was cut short as he looked up to find that the morrow had already come. "...This fair morn", he corrected himself, swinging stiffly down from the saddle. He tried to make it look graceful, but a night in the saddle does no good to the back.

Paying little or no heed to any forthcoming reply, Brophar flicked open his helmet's visor, revealing his clear blue eyes and flaring red, bushy moustache, and peered into the forest, in the direction the old man had been looking. "And what were ye searching for? Ah, your horse ran away, sir? Don't worry, I will catch the beast and bring him back to you". The knight had spotted the unicorn, obviously, and had mistaken her for a horse, as men were wont to do. The fact that she had no saddle had not occurred to him. Without delay, he set about removing his armour, renewing his promises of swift capture.

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If your signature is larger than your post, you're wasting space. If your signature is larger than your average post, you need brain surgery. Or a brain.

The swamp lay under a thick mist, despite the heavy hand of the early summer sun. The figure settled in the crook of the long dead oak watched the teeming life about with a critical eye, wary for any danger.

How long had he lived here? It had been a while, though he'd lost track of the days winters ago. It hadn't been easy at first. But now, he knew the old magics and the creatures resulting from them. He smirked as the fairy now and again set up camps on the outskirts and were both drawn in and pushed out by the more wild magics which hid deeper within.

A haniman hung from his fingertips in two pieces like a split lobster, sectioned legs long ago stilled in death. He’d split it open over his knee and was spooning out the only good portion of its flesh with his fingers. A strange, gooey paste that tasted amazingly sweet, it was much like honey and as fruit didn’t grow in the swamp, he’d come to take what he could get. Everything else in the swamp tasted like bog water no matter how you cooked it. The haniman wasn't a pretty creature. But beggars couldn't be choosers.

Having heard the disturbance, cries or strangled screams cut off too soon, he’d glanced around to ensure he was safe then tossed the haniman to the side as he leapt catlike from the tree to investigate.

The man was too close to death for an intervention. There was nothing Garrum could do. He watched for a moment from his vantage behind a bush then his cornflower blue gaze flicked to a small movement across the small peat clearing from himself.

There - to the side of the gruesome fairy and man tableau stood a girl, flush against the back of a tree. She was doing a very good job of hiding. He’d not seen her until she'd startled when the fae had spoken. As there was no breeze, it was likely that the fairy hadn’t scented her either.

He grinned. Teeth flashed impossibly white against his tan skin. Smart. Very smart. She hadn’t tried to save the man either. So many people entered the swamp and tried to be heroes or victims - fighting or running. She’d obviously known better.

The man made a horrible wrenching scream that tapered off into a gurgle. Not dead yet.

Garrum sighed. It was going to be a long day. Things like this only complicated his life. The death of a human in the swamp was like throwing a bloody scarf to a pack of starving wolves.

He slipped soundlessly around the clearing until he was in direct sight of her but had the tree placed between he and the fairy. He popped his head up out of the bush and made a quick motion to get her attention then placed his hands out and indicated she remain still, stay there. Then he slid back out of sight.

The silence throughout the entire transaction lay heavily punctuated by feeble thrashings and moans as well as the soft, sibilance of the fairy’s intent work upon the doomed man.

A sudden guttural cry cut the stillness from the other side of the clearing. It was a sharp, inhuman sound. As it died off into a thick deep grunt, the fairy hissed in frustration.

He watched as she scented the air, realized she’d not be able to scent danger before it was upon her, then plainly decided to take the safer course. She darted off, leaving the dying man in a discarded pile at the side of the clearing.

Garrum crossed the field, past the dying man, and reappeared by the girl. He sighed, his expression grim. "It’s gone. There are bigger predators than it around here. Some of them come to scavenge the bones. No one wants to stay near when they show up." He didn't smile. "It is handy, knowing how to reproduce the cries."

He was an anomaly, this man from the swamp. His body was slender, formed perfectly down to the joints, slim and muscular. Hair, such a pale gold as to seem almost white in the dim light, floated light and soft about his face, dancing on light currents of air, too small to be considered a breeze. The face also was fine, a lordling’s face, with straight nose, strong jaw, and full lips. His gaze fit the rest of the semblance of sun, vibrant in against the rest of his entire self until at times, his eyes alone seemed to be all that he was. Their focus was on the girl right then.

But it wasn’t his looks that created the greatest disconnect with the swampland around - though they would have garnered enough attention anywhere, being exceedingly fine and beautiful - but the fact that his shirt was pure white. Sleeves tucked up around his elbows and tails tucked into finely spun flannel pants, stained at the cuffs with muck, he might have stepped out of a palace riding lesson to take a stroll before tea around his back yard swamp.

He looked from her to the dying man. "We should get out of here," he took her upper arm in a gentle yet iron fast grip. "She’ll be back very soon." His glance to the man was pitying. "There’s nothing we can do for him but join him now."



Jon watched the gypsy caravan come up upon them. He held the head of his plough horse with a tension playing all over his aging body. An older man in the Roma caravan, at the head of it, gave him a nod which he did not return. Then they were gone and only a girl on a horse was left, passing by - the last of a painful reminder of the turning of the seasons and his loss.

She wasn’t Roma. She didn’t have the same dirty brown skin of the boy in her lap. Instead, her skin was more fair, more sun touched. Her eyes retained some civilization in them while her form was more fine, hair less coarse. She was then, some cross between a Roma and someone else. He hadn’t thought of how that would look, actually. Not that she was the first person he’d seen who wasn’t fully Roma.

As he watched her pass him by, he clung to his horse and felt grief well up within. With a curse, he spit on the ground and turned, shoulders hunched against the pain of their coming once again and the reminder of a too remembered burial mound. He would not be a face seen at the gathering. No - he would remain in his house, wrapped in her blanket, imagining he could catch a faint scent of lavender left over and watching the sun’s rays touch his rooms with red and gold.

At the sound of the bells, and at the next house, Jon could see young Harper come out to lean on his fenceline in hopes of getting a greeting as well. Harper, just turned seventeen, would be there, watching the dancing. His face had the brightness of the innocent, unaware of how his life could turn on a dime from joy into despair. The young man climbed up onto the fence line and waved the gypsies in.

Harper glowed red as the pretty girl rode by on her horse. His grin was shy as he gave a gruff "’Lo" and winked at the boy.

"You guys come from the north?" he asked suddenly, hopped off the fence and trailed alongside her horse as she followed the caravan. It was dusty and he waved his hat before his face in a futile attempt to keep the dust out of his eyes.

"I mean.." he blushed, "just askin’. It’s been a while. I was sixteen last time you all came through. I always get a birthday just before you guys show up every year. But I’ll bet it’s not always you guys, huh? 'Cause I don't always recognize people."

He was babbling but she seemed friendly enough and his parents had always gone to great pains to be kind to the Roma that came through. His mother had said that they needed to have room for all kinds of people, just like they had room for everything else.

"There’s the birds what stay, Harper. Juncoes an’ finches and chickadees. They make it good ta be here all year round. But them song birds, they float in an’ out. The best of ‘em is the ones that are here only stoppin’ over before they go south more. They’re the real pretty singers. All colors an’ song. That’s how we gonna look at them Roma. They’re like th’ song birds."

He’d found a particularly pretty song bird now and like his mother and her birds, he was drawn to her like a moth to a flame.

__________________

‘What will my death be like?’ he thought- and knew at once
with abrupt certainty, that it would be just like his life:
... the same balance of bearables.
~Amis

The unicorn smiled at the old Mage. "I understand Mage. Call me Liorne." She placed her face near his hand. [i]"Go ahead. I trust you."]/i] Just as it seemed the Mage was going to stroke her soft muzzle, a Knight rode up on a horse. The Knight had seemed to startle his own horse. Violet eyes blinked. She glanced over and heard what he said. He thought she was just some mare to be captured?

Liorne took a step back. She whinnied and reared up. The unicorn brought her silver hooves down hard, warning the Knight. She did not want to have to hurt him or the Mage. Then again, to warn the Knight like she should, she would have to reveal what she was. Stupid humans... She thought to herself. Liorne tossed her head about and her mane shook in silver locks.

Now she took a few steps back and pounded the ground with her hooves again. Another warning as the Knight continued to approach her. She put her head down to where her horn was level with his chest. She would fight, even if that made her reveal her true form to some Knight who couldnt even see what she truly was.

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Never Going Back To You

My Twilight by Stephenie Meyer Fanfic.

Bayside Marin Rehabilitation OOC

JOIN PLEASE!!