Huma Bird Design!

Huma bird design!

I tried to find other birds from cultures that aren't just Greek, Roman, or English, etc and this was a really cool one I found.

My brain saw it and kinda went !!!!colour!!!!

Apparently the Huma never lands, and blesses those its shadow lands on with good fortune. I'm not an expert by any means- that was from a 5 min google search- so please correct me if you know more!!

refseek.com

www.worldcat.org/

link.springer.com

http://bioline.org.br/

repec.org

science.gov

pdfdrive.com

Okaaaay so. This was a Process. I wanted to draw the Simurgh (and it's ?kinda partner? the Chamrosh) so I did. I believe it's from Persian mythology (though that was like 2 seconds on google so please correct me if I'm wrong) and is a mix of a dog and a peafowl with lion claws.

That first image is of an Indian peafowl x Sarabi dog Simurgh.

But I wasn't happy with it so I redesigned it as a Saluki dog x Indian peafowl.

THEN I realised I wanted to redesign it again with a Green Peafowl x Saluki dog because I wanted it to be two species actually native to Persia where the Simurgh is from.

So- behold the end result!

quick what is everyone doing right now

Let me tell you a story.

It starts like this: Once, there was a land. No, that’s not right. It starts like this: Once, there was magic. No, that’s not it either. Like this: Once, there was a girl. No. Once, there were- Once, there was- Once there- Once- Once- Once- Once, there was a forest.

It was an ancient forest, filled with noble trees that reached to the heavens, trying to tangle with the stars. It was a living forest, that seemed to breathe and watch you walk through knotted columns of bark that had seen kings live and die, kingdoms rise and fall, borders be drawn and redrawn and wars fought, and seen foxhunts and lovers kissing and life come and go and, and, and, and. The forest had no name. It was older than the history the land it watched over kept. It had once been much larger, covering the whole of the earth, some say. But the tiny huts expanded into villages expanded into towns expanded into cities expanded into- There is not much left of the forest now. Just a single pocket between one kingdom and the next, belonging to both and neither. People walk the forest free of fear, day or night, regardless of danger in nearby places. The forest is benevolent, and lives outside the rules the rest of the world belongs to. None would ever dare to harm another in its bounds. It shows. It’s clear in the birds singing fearlessly, unafraid of humans. It’s clear in the crystal streams, unsullied by dirt.

It’s clear in the way the wind whispers through the trees, wrapping gently around children, laughingly pushing young couples closer in a sudden gust, dancing alongside girls with carefree hearts, talking to those who take the time to listen. It’s clear in the way the deer walk across the path, ears still, muscles lax. It’s clear in the wolf pups tussling in the meadow just off the path, you know the one, not five minutes from the border- no, not that one, that one.

Some say that the forest remembers. Remembers a time where magic was free, in every blade of grass and tongue of flame and chick and fawn and tadpole and fish and mushroom and moss, in the dirt and the air, the sky and the water. Some argue that’s wrong; the forest is magic. Either way, it’s the only place where any can still be found. Many have come out, claiming to have seen fairies or a sidhe, fae or unicorns, a pure white elk with antlers wreathed in flowers, tiny dragons or nymphs or dryads. People would laugh off the claims- it’s ridiculous, isn’t it? They don’t really exist. We all know that. Magic, if it were ever truly real, is long gone. Except in the forest, they’d think after turning away. Despite their claims, everyone knew deep down that it did, that magic thrived among the twisted trunks, it always had and always would. Chances were, those people told the truth. But isn’t that humanity? To dismiss what it true? I digress.

In the centre of the forest, there was a Tree. The Tree was beyond ancient. If the forest ever had a start, the Tree would have been the first. Some whisper that anyone in need can ask a favour with an offering placed in the moss-covered rock twisted amongst the gnarled roots, worn down by thousands of reverent touches, alongside the faded ribbons knotted to the branches encircling it, above the intricate crumbling lines carved into a surface that had seen more of life then we could ever dream. Some whisper that the Tree belongs to an Old One, a god of a long-passed religion none can remember, but we named The Lady all the same.

That’s what humans do. They name what they don’t understand, what they’re afraid of, what they are curious about, what they love, to feel closer to it. Names are human. You can’t name something if you don’t know it. To have a name means you are known, means you are tied to any who deem you important enough to be known in love or hate, you have a place. Always remember that if anyone knows your name, you mean something to them. Names have power. It’s why the fae ask for names. It’s why you can’t give them yours. People say The Lady is the guardian of the forest, all that remains of magic, keeping its dwindling spark alive among the trees where miracles happen.

I was always a carefree child. I would laugh when the breeze tangled my hair, knotting it so my mother threatened to cut it. (She never did. She said it reminded her of her own mother.)

I would splash in the clear ice streams threading through the patch of oaks in the east, and each evening I’d return home with my dress hem wet but clean and my feet muddy from the soft dirt path home. I’d tussle alongside the wolf pups in the clearing when the spring came, and coo at the fawns learning to stand in the soft leaf litter. And sometimes, I’d look at the Tree and wonder. It is true? Are you The Lady’s home? Are you magic? Do you protect us? I’d inevitably leave. Home to dinner, home to chores, the fields to see a friend’s lambs, the river to wash the fruit I’d found, a path I hadn’t yet explored. Sometimes, I’d think the Tree was sad to see me go.

The people in the village where I lived would smile as I ran past, and the baker would give me a sweet roll in the afternoons if I hadn’t eaten, and the lady selling cheese every second day would wink and slide me a slice of my favourite when nobody was looking, and they’d say my parents were blessed to have such a happy daughter. My father would smile at me when I returned home each evening, and ask how the forest was. He’d laugh at my muddy feet, and call me a wild child. Ariadne, he’d say with a smile, where did you find this wild child? Are you sure she isn’t a changeling? My mother would roll her eyes at him, and clean my feet, and call me her little sparrow, and when I asked why, she told me it’s because I was ‘always flitting from one place to the next.’ And I’d grin, my biggest gap-toothed smile, with knotted hair filled with leaves and bare feet caked with dirt and dress hem dripping wet, and I’d tell them that one day I’d learn to fly, they’ll see, then they can really call me a sparrow.

I grew, as children are wont to do. As I grew, I was given more responsibility. I was also made to wear shoes though I hated them, and that seemed a terrible change to me, though in retrospect it was the littlest of the many that occurred. I could no longer spend every waking hour flitting through the forest. Instead, I had lambs to birth and clothes to wash, and seams to mend, and food to help prepare and water to draw from the well. But I was a quick study, and the forest was where I wanted to be, so I did my chores quickly and ran, and the people in my village would roll their eyes and sigh fondly, saying that if I weren’t such a sweet little thing, such a pretty little thing, my parents would have a problem on their hands. And after I had run off, I would kick off the hated shoes to dig my toes into the dirt, and I’d continue to explore the forest.

It was a spring day, near the start when the sun begins to shine more warmly, the grass shoots up green, and flowers begin to bloom, but no babies have yet been born when I met her.

I had been sitting in the clearing around the Tree, weaving a flower crown of dandelions, when movement caught my eye. She was sitting in the Tree, and her feet were swinging below her, the movement that had caught my attention, and I couldn’t see her well until she lightly sprang down from the bough higher than I was tall like it was something she did every day, and she smiled at me. My first thought was that she’s pretty. My second, that I had never seen her before and in my village, everyone knows everyone, and she looks like she belongs in the forest, like she’s part of it, and so she must be magic. “Hello,” she’d said brightly, and the sun was shining on her just right and she looked alive in a way no-one I’d ever seen did, and her eyes were the same green as the budding leaves and sprouting grasses, and her hair was thick and soft and long and curled around her head and shoulders and back like mine could never hope to accomplish, straight as it was, and it was the same rich colour as the bark of the Tree she’d been sitting in, warm and brown, and her dress was the darker green of older leaves and she looked like spring. “Hello,” I’d stammered back, blinking in wonder at the strange being who had sat herself down in front of me and was looking in amazement at the nearly-done flower crown forgotten in my hands. She has leaves in her hair, I’d thought, and it was true. She’d tipped her head, and a curl had moved, and a leaf had revealed itself, and I’d reached out and plucked it gently from her head, and blushed, because that was rude, I should have asked, what if it was attached? But it was fine because she’d smiled and laughed, and I’d apologised, and I’d offered her the flower crown I’d finished without thinking, and placed it on her head, and she looked so surprised and a blinding smile overtook her face, and we were friends.

“What’s your name?” she’d asked, and she’d tucked a curl behind her ear and it wasn’t pointed so she wasn’t a fae and I could tell her, and anyway I thought, I don’t think it would matter if she were, because I still would have told her. “Eanna,” I’d said with a smile, and she’d laughed again, and I thought that she looked beautiful when she laughed and I should get her to do it again as much as possible. And my mother had raised me with manners, and so I asker her back, “what’s your name?” And she tipped her head again, like a curious bird, and thought. “Nobody has asked me for my name in a long time. But if you want, you may call me Keita.” And I must have been imagining things, because for a moment, it seemed the sun shone brighter and warmer, and the trees rustled their leaves together, and the birds fell silent, and I could feel magic, deep and old, waking up. But it must have been my imagination, because within one heartbeat and the next, everything was normal again, and nothing had happened, and her name was beautiful, and I wondered what her name meant, because names have meaning, and my parents often lamented about naming me after the flightiest bird in the fields, their little sparrow. So I asked her, and she just smiled and told me I’d figure it out for myself, and we talked together until the sun began to set and I needed to run home before dinner and I had a new friend.

We would meet every day from then after I’d finished my chores. I would run to the Tree, and wait on the ground below, and she’d spring from a branch, or she’d meet me before I even got to the Tree, melting out of the forest like she was a part of it, and she’d fall in step beside me and we’d grin at each other and race to the stream, or the meadow with the poppies, or the pine that had fallen in the storm, and we’d explore the forest together, but we’d always end up by the Tree, in our spot, where the roots curled just right, and the offering stone twisted inside them was behind us, and we were sheltered from the outside world by the knotted ribbons in the branches, and it was undoubtedly sacred ground, because that’s where people asked The Lady for favours. I asked Keita about it once, if she thought The Lady minded that we sat in her little temple, that we used her alter stone for picnics, and she just laughed, long and loud, and told me she didn’t think The Lady would mind, she’d probably be happy someone cared enough to use it, and we did use it for a sanctuary of sorts anyway, so it wasn’t like we couldn’t be here, and as for using the stone for picnics? Well, our joy should be offering enough for any Old One, and she always said it like that, ‘The Lady,’ or ‘Old One,’ with a grin and a twinkle in her eyes, like she was laughing at a joke I just didn’t yet know.

At the start, I had asked everyone in the village if they knew Keita, if they’d ever met her before, if they knew what her name meant, and they’d look at me strangely and say Keita wasn’t a real name, that there was nobody by her description they knew of, and decided I must be touched in the head or making things up. I would come home each evening talking about her and what we’d done that day, and my father’s mouth would thin slightly, and he’d gently but firmly tell me that these stories were unbecoming of me, and unless I changed and settled down, he’d never find me a good husband, but he still called me his wild child with a sigh so I knew he must still love me anyway and he was just trying to help me as my father. My mother would frown when I told her my stories, too, and she’d sternly shake her head and tell me I had too much time on my hands and give me more chores to do, so I stopped telling everyone about Keita and they’d still frown when I came home from the woods but not as much, and the baker still gave me sweet rolls sometimes, but less often, and the cheese lady didn’t give me my cheese for free anymore, but I paid less than everyone else, so that was okay, and my mother still called me her little sparrow, so I knew she still loved me too.

The seasons changed, and the summer came, and then the autumn, and then the winter, and it was spring again, and Keita changed with them.

In the summer, she was gold, with golden skin and bright green eyes with gold threading through them so they looked hazel, and in the sun her rich brown hair transformed to gold and I could find clusters of green leaves tangled in her curls, and her dress was still a dark green but it seemed richer in colour, and it was like she was gilded and alive.

The autumn turned her like the forest, with the gold sheen in her hair replaced by rich red, but that might have been the fallen leaves caught in it, and her dress turning the same reds and browns and oranges as the leaves still clinging to their branches, and her eyes weren’t fully green anymore, they were brown in the outside with only a ring of pale lichen green on the inside, and her skin lost its golden tint and returned to the warm brown of the bark of the Tree it had been in the spring, and she looked like a flickering flame in the sunlight.

The winter turned her both darker and lighter, her eyes the deepest brown I’d ever seen, only the thinnest ring of icy green around her pupil, her dress the pale colour of snow, her skin the same beautiful shade of the old mahogany tree on the northern border’s bark, and her hair a deep brown, often covered in frost I’d gently chip off her curls in the mornings, and walking in the forest, I’d look at her and think she both blended in and stood out in the snow, and she never seemed to grow cold despite the icy days and the thin dress she always wore, and I marvelled at her and put it down to magic.

Then spring came again, and Keita was back with new-leaf green eyes, and her hair only had a few leaves in it again, but their green stood out amongst the rich brown curls, and her skin was like the Tree had come alive and wrapped her in its loving embrace because they matched so perfectly, and her dress was back to a dark green, and I’d never enjoyed anyone’s company as much as I loved hers, even if I never told anyone else.

It was a few months after we met, and I asked Keita whether she thought the forest would die without The Lady and her magic, if she ever died, or people forgot her name and she stopped existing, and she looked troubled and thoughtful and she said she didn’t know, but she didn’t think The Lady could die unless she chose to, and if the forest was still here so long after those who worshipped her were gone, so it was unlikely anyone would forget her name, and my question was irrelevant.

It was a year and a bit after we’d met, and it was a clear and cloudless night, and we were watching the stars, and Keita told me about how they were the souls of the dead, watching over us, happily caring for the night and lighting our paths and guiding us because they protected us, and she laughed and said that one day, I’d be the brightest one there and everyone would know me.

It was four years to the day since we’d first met, and I was weaving Keita another flower crown of dandelions as I did whenever they grew because that was our thing, and I looked over at where she was lying on her back beside me, hair spread out across the grass, and I wove the last dandelion in place and she looked over to see it finished and she grinned excitedly and sat and bowed her head for her crowning, and I gently placed it amongst her curls and plucked one of the ever-present leaves out of her hair where it hid a dandelion, and I smiled because she looked beautiful. “I wish my hair curled like yours,” I told her. “It’s so pretty.” Keita looked at me in surprise, and she blushed, but told me quickly in no uncertain terms that I should keep my hair exactly as it is, because it was so smooth and silky, and the way it flowed it reminded her of our favourite stream, and ‘besides, if it curled like mine, I couldn’t do this’, and she gently carded her fingers through my hair, and I couldn’t breathe, and we stayed like that the rest of the afternoon, my head in her lap with her fingers combing my hair, and we talked and we complimented each other playfully, trying to one-up the previous claim. “Your eyes are so green they could be emeralds.” “How rude! Cold hard stone? No thank you- this is leaf green, you know,” and she plucked a leaf from her hair and held it to her eyes and smiled and she was right, of course, but I couldn’t tell her that or she’d win, and she continued, “besides, your eyes are the blue of the sky.” “Don’t be ridiculous, the sky changes colour each day. Your hair is the colour of the Tree’s bark, though.” And she looked so flattered, even though anyone else would have been offended, but it was true and it was one of my favourite colours because it belonged to her in the spring and in the autumn.

“Well, your hair is the colour of-” she looked around quickly and grinned again, “the colour of the nesting ravens in that oak, over there, by the cluster of ferns, all shiny and colourful in the light.” And it went on and on like this, and every compliment was true and we both knew it but we never mentioned it, either, because what would we say?

It was when I got home from the forest that day, as we were eating our dinner together as a family, me and my mother and my father and the orange cat that was meant to be a mouser but preferred our laps, that my father sat back with a satisfied grin, and told me he’d talked to the baker and his son, and we’d meet them tomorrow morning, and if all went well, I would marry Tomas. “It was hard,” he said, “to find you any suitors. All that running around in the forest.” He frowned as he said it, and I could tell he didn’t approve, and neither did my mother, because they shared one of those looks, that conveyed a conversation no-one else was privy to, and he looked back at me, because I didn’t look as happy as he’d expected me to. I knew my duty, of course. My father was always going to choose me a husband, and I’d marry him, and I’d care for him, but it didn’t mean I felt I was ready, or even wanted to. You’d rather be playing in the forest with Keita, a small voice had whispered inside me, and I shoved it down, because thinking like that would only lead to problems, and I knew it was true, but acknowledging it wasn’t possible. Nonetheless, I nodded meekly, and his scrutinising gaze turned to a satisfied one, and my father leaned back in his chair and began to tell me about Tomas, and when it came time to clean the dishes my mother began telling me about what I should do to secure the match, how to sit and to not talk and smile and to wear the special dress she’d made, and to brush my hair carefully and to look presentable and to ‘for sanity’s sake, wear your shoes,’ and, and, and.

The next day, I rose with the sun and carefully cleaned my face and brushed my hair and wore the special dress and wore the hated shoes and we went to the baker’s house, my father and I. Tomas was… fine. I knew some of the girls my age called him handsome, and giggled behind hands as he passed, because his hair was a coveted yellow, like dough, but not gold like summer, the voice whispered, and his eyes were green, like sea glass, but not like leaves, and his skin was pale like milk, like mine, not the beautiful colour of the trees and the forest and life and- and he was fine, I told myself firmly. He would be fine. I was lucky to have the interest of one of the most eligible men in the village, and it was fine. I wouldn’t go hungry with the bakery, but I’d have more work, baking the bread each morning and selling it when we married and I wouldn’t have time to visit the forest, or Keita, and the small part whispering inside me rebelled at that, and I pushed it down because it would do me no good thinking like that, and besides, Tomas was the only one in the village who would agree to court me because I was strange and still played in the forest like a child, and used to make up stories of a strange girl who lived there, but they’re not stories, not really, they’re true, the whisper would cry and I keep pushing it down and sipping my tea carefully because I knew my duty, and anyone else would probably commit crimes to have Tomas’s interest like I did and if I didn’t act right, I wouldn’t get married because nobody else could look past my strangeness, and the whisper asked if that would really be so bad, and I ignored it.

Later, my father and I walked out of the baker’s house, and he smiled when we got home, and rested his hand on my shoulder, and praised me, because Tomas agreed to meet up with me again, and I would go for a walk through the market with him tomorrow morning, and I had done well so I could have the afternoon free of chores, and he called me his wild child, so I knew he was happy and still loved me, even if it didn’t feel like it, I don’t want this I don’t- And I nodded stiffly, and changed out of the uncomfortable good dress and confining shoes and ran to the forest, unsettled and not listening to the whisper, because this was good, surely. Keita stepped out of a cluster of ferns, and beckoned me over, ‘Eanna, look’ and showed me a litter of fox kits, and I pushed the feelings away and I was happy because I was in the forest, and I was with Keita, and the kits were beautiful and squeaking with their eyes closed, and their mother let me scratch behind her ears.

It was as we were lying in the Tree’s clearing, our clearing, that I brought it up. “My father has found me a suitor.” And I tried to sound interested and I failed because I couldn’t lie to Keita and she picked up on it, and she tried to look happy for me and failed, because she couldn’t lie to me either. “He’ll be a good husband.” And I rambled on, trying to convince Keita and myself that I was happy and this was good, and she tried to look supportive because we both knew I didn’t have a choice, and this was meant to be good, but it wasn’t, and the whisper was growing louder and crying with Kieta right there, and- and I pushed. It. Down. “Well, as long as you still visit me,” Kieta smiled but it didn’t reach her eyes all the way, and then it was more genuine, and she told me I’d always have a place here with her, and if I wanted I could run away and live here with her, and she tried to make it sound like a joke but she failed because we both knew the offer was genuine but I couldn’t and she meant it and I would in a heartbeat if I could, and we didn’t talk about Tomas again and distracted ourselves with each other’s company, and I wove her a flower crown of dandelions and gently placed it on her head and we both grinned and we were just us in that moment.

The next day, I did my duty, and I cleaned and dressed nicely and I went for a walk with Tomas in the market, and the cheese lady didn’t give me cheese anymore, I had to buy it like everyone else, but Tomas bought me some, because he was an accommodating suitor, and he was walking me back to my house, and it. Was. Fine. I reached home, bid Tomas farewell, shed the uncomfortable feeling of being crushed duty, and ran to the forest and we, Keita and I, watched the fox kits sleeping and found a new fawn and tussled with the new wolf pups, and I was happy, and Keita was green and alive.

It was as the spring turned to summer that Tomas formally asked my father for my hand, and then it was summer and Keita was gold and I was betrothed. I tried to ignore how the former made a flock of birds take flight in my stomach and made my heart felt warm and the latter didn’t, I felt trapped- and I was very good at ignoring the whisper that grew louder and louder each day, because the latter was fine. It was fine.

Tomas was walking me home from the market again, because we did it every week, and he began talking about our upcoming marriage, and he was just talking and I was just nodding along and feeling smaller and smaller, and I froze, because- “You’ll be a good wife, though you’ll have to stop visiting the forest, of course. It wouldn’t do to have such a wild wife, what would people think, and you’ll have plenty of other duties besides-” and my heart froze and felt like ice and was breaking, because I couldn’t do that, and he must have seen something on my face, and I tried to school my expression but it was too late, and Tomas saw and he didn’t do anything but I could tell I’d angered him, and all he said was “we’ll talk later” and his lips were a thin line and he was curt as he left me, and I ran to the forest and curled in our spot in the Tree’s roots, and Kieta came and we didn’t say anything, but she held me as I cried and the birds all perched around us and Keita tried (and failed) to make me my own dandelion crown but she wasn’t a good weaver and it fell apart but it made me smile, and were happy as we curled around each other.

Tomas must have said something to my father, because he brought it up at dinner, and he told me I needed to stop visiting the forest and settle down, and he was stern and my mother was frowning and disappointed, and I didn’t say anything because my heart was breaking I knew my duty, and he didn’t call me his wild child, but he must still love me, because he was only trying to arrange me a good marriage.

It was nearing the end of summer, and the wedding was being planned, and I had to sneak out of the house to visit Kieta because my father was watching me, and he’d stopped calling me his wild child and mother had stopped calling me her little sparrow and I couldn’t breathe and they must still love me, they’re only doing what’s best, and I could feel everyone in the village’s eyes on me, gossiping about how lucky I was, and disapprovingly mutter about how it was okay to be a carefree child, but a lady should settle down and get married and be sensible, and I was none of those things, but I’d learn and Tomas would teach me, and then they’d nod in approval at our match and It. Was. Fine.

It was a week to my wedding, and Tomas learnt I was sneaking out my window to the forest, and he was angry and he was yelling and he told my father and that evening the window was nailed shut and I was trapped had to stay inside and learn my lesson and stop sneaking out into the forest and father was mad and mother was disappointed and everything was wrong fine.

It was three days to my wedding, to the end start of my old new trapped married life. It was three days to my wedding, and I hadn’t slept well because I was scared and didn’t want this, I wanted to be with Kieta I was preparing for my wedding. It was three days to my wedding and my father and my mother fell asleep early and I could sneak out and it was late, but I needed to see Keita, I had missed her and I hadn’t seen her for four days and I missed her. I ran into the clearing, and I sat in our spot and she came and we didn’t say anything but I rested my head in her lap and she wore my dandelion crown and I tucked one of the leaves from her hair behind my ear and she finger-combed my long, straight black hair, so different from hers, because I was only human and she must have been magic but it didn’t matter because I just wanted to stay there forever, and she broke our silence to tell me I always had a place with her and she meant it because we can’t lie to each other and I wanted to say yes but I knew my duty, and saying no would be a lie and we don’t do that, so I said nothing and I fell asleep and then it was morning two days before my wedding and my parents and Tomas would have noticed I was gone because I was meant to meet with Tomas to talk about the dowry and had to run, feet bare and dirty, hair tangled with grass where Kieta had amused herself knotting it in, all the way back home.

Father was angry. Mother was angry. Tomas was angry.

They’d told me not to visit the forest. Father called me his wild child, but it didn’t sound like a good thing anymore, and mother called me a sparrow but that didn’t sound like a good thing anymore, either, and Tomas just called me Eanna, because that was my name, and nothing else was proper, unless it was wife, and that only came the day after tomorrow, and I wanted to cry. I told myself everything was fine. I was never a good liar. Father and Tomas negotiated the dowry, and it would have been a different price, it should have been a different price, but I’d gone to the forest and Tomas was angry and father had to bargain to make Tomas happy, and then he left and Tomas’s eyes were cold when he looked at me and everyone was angry. That evening, my father stayed up to make sure I didn’t leave again. It was the day before my wedding, and Tomas and I were to go to the market together, because they wanted to make sure I didn’t run it was what we did.

It was the day before my wedding, and I could see the forest from the cheese stall, and Tomas caught me looking at it again, and he was angry, and I was on the ground before I knew what had happened- And there was a crowd- And Tomas was yelling- And people were staring as he yelled- And my parents were just watching- The cheese lady watching- And I could feel blood from where I had hit my head- And yelling- And pain- And there were more blows- And blood and pain and- And nobody did anything, because Tomas was right, he had to teach me- But there wasn’t any hope for me, this was for the best- Pain- Blows- Yelling, yelling, yelling- The sky was hazy- I looked to my parents-

And my mother was disappointed and she didn’t call me her little sparrow, and she didn’t love me- And my father called me a wild child, but not his, and he shook his head, and it was a bad thing and he didn’t love me either- And Tomas was still yelling, I could still feel the blows- And the cheese lady just watched my blood soak into the cart with a disapproving frown- And nobody helped- And I then Tomas was done, and he stepped away and told my father the wedding was off- And I heaved myself broken, bleeding, hurt, dying to my feet, and the world was spinning and blurry, and I was running, and all I could think was that I wanted to see Keita, and I’d say yes and go with her and we’d be together- And I was stumbling through the forest and it was cold and the animals were watching me with worry- And I reached the clearing and there were spots in my vision- And I reached out spot, in the roots, in the Tree, in the temple, on sacred ground, and I hoped The Lady wouldn’t mind the blood on her alter- And I fell to my knees and Keita was there before me, and everything was clear now, and I smiled, a bloody, weak smile but it was okay because I was here, I was with Keita, and she was gold and she was alive- And somehow my head was in her lap, and she looked scared, which was wrong, because Keita never looked scared- And her fingers combed my bloody hair- And the only thing clear was Keita, Keita, Keita- And I thought I love you- And I must have said it out loud, because she was crying Keita never cried and she was saying it back, ‘I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you’ and I didn’t know if the tears on my face were just hers or mine too- And all I could see was Keita- And she was sobbing, and asking me not to go where she couldn’t follow- And I remembered a long-ago conversation about stars and souls and thought I want to be bright to guide Kieta so I told her- And the Tree behind her was shaking and the forest was quiet and nothing was moving- And I thought briefly that well of course The Lady won’t mind the blood on her alter, Keita never cared about blood- And the last thing I knew was Keita crying I love you, I love you, I love you, I’ll follow you- And I was no more.

Later, I’d learn that Keita held my body for hours, before weaving a dandelion crown and placing it in my hair. She’d stood, eyes dead and the gold dull, and the forest had shuddered and flowers had grown in our spot around my body through the blood. Her green dress had been stained by my blood, and her hands were sticky and caked and flaking, and her feet were bare and she still wore my dandelion crown from the other night, had kept it alive with magic, and her eyes had glowed and she was angry- And she’d walked out of the forest, the grass and bushes parting before her, animals trailing behind, ready to avenge me, and the forest was shaking in anger- And she’d walked into the village and people looked at her and knew and remembered my stories of a girl whose name meant Forest in a long-dead tongue they suddenly remembered- And Keita was angry and grieving and powerful and magic- And the forest was angry and grieving- And Kieta brought the terrible righteous anger of an Old One upon the village that hadn’t been mine in a long time. And she shattered it, and nobody survived, and Keita returned to her Tree and laid my body across her alter and lay beside me and followed.

Now, the two brightest stars in the sky shine side-by-side, together always, sometimes looking like one with how closely they lie, and Keita and I are together now, happy and free and in love forever. Centuries later, people smile looking at us, and say that we’ll be the last two stars in the sky. Centuries later, people will find the village’s ruins again in the centre of a dead field, and wonder what happened to shatter it so completely and never guess the truth. And I got my answer, I learnt what happened to the forest when The Lady died, because, after she did-

The forest is gone now.

reblog the money pigeon for a financially stable future