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#also me going to the oak grove and just looking around whenever i was this close to ending it (:
endcant · 3 years
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Making My Own Post™️ because im not indigenous, and because the post that spurred this on was about Palestine as well, so i don’t want to derail it. that said, it does have me very emotional because i grew up in the central valley of california, and i do my best to pay attention to the land i’m on and the people who know it best. i think that anybody who really cares about the land that america encompasses and learning about what it was like before it was devastated by the arrival of white people would be able to understand my frustration.
i love the valley now, even in its dry and wounded state, because it is where i grew up, but it is obvious that the land was far, far healthier when it was in the care of the indigenous people of the area. that is because the ecosystem was maintained by and for those people.
i’m not indigenous, so i don’t presume to have any better knowledge than what was shared in the other post (which you really should check out before reading on), but what @omusa-inola and @dojense shared was the same as what i learned in my own personal research. the valley used to be home to black oak forests, which were maintained by the indigenous people that live there. black oaks are huge trees which provide essential shade from the intense central valley sun. black oaks also build a root network that nourishes other plants that the indigenous people of the area (including the miwoks, but also other tribes) relied on prior to the destruction of the oaks.
there is a very small black oak grove near where i used to live (that is now being threatened by kudzu, sadly) and standing underneath the cathedral-like shelter of a black oak’s sprawling branches and seeing what grows in their shadow really contextualizes the struggle of the valley. it’s obvious if you open your eyes and look. things grow easily under the black oaks. they don’t elsewhere. meanwhile, white people struggle to grow non-native crops under the direct sun, in huge monocultural fields, by dousing them with water daily. white people act like the valley is dry and barren by nature now, but it doesn’t have to be. it wasn’t before.
if you read that other post, you might be finding it clear that genocidal action and ecological disaster absolutely go hand in hand. both play into each other. california is just one example of that. the healthy, abundant ecosystem that worked for the valley, that was maintained by and for the indigenous people, was destroyed. the oaklands were chopped down, taking the livelihood of the indigenous people with them— all in order to make way for the white way of life. even now, surviving native plant and wildlife continues to die off every day as farms till to prepare for another season of stripping the soil of water and nutrients for profit, and even as farms are torn up and replaced by houses and apartments for the ever-increasing number of those who want to strike it rich in the golden state. public schools in CA continue to refuse to teach the truth about the indigenous people of the region, denying their importance and existence. sacred & historic sites are torn up because they’re worth so much more to capitalism if they’re replaced by a shitty apartment building or whatever.
the disturbed land of the valley is not only home to crops and densely-packed little houses, but it is also home to viciously invasive and highly flammable grasses that literally didnt exist in california before white people brought them over in bags of grain and crop seeds. the native plants that do manage to sprout up between the strawberries and almond trees are destroyed by tilling, but the tilling literally perpetuates the life cycle of these invasive grasses which choke out other life, suck the nutrients and water out of the soil, and then die on top of it in a dry, flammable heap. those invasive grasses also dominate the yellow, barren cow pastures between the orchards, and the black-burnt shoulders of the highways.
it’s confusing and mind-numbing to try to understand how California keeps making ecologically devastating decisions while maintaining the reputation of a Good, Liberal State. at least it was that way for me, until one of my visits to the black oak grove during that period of my life where i was struggling to grow my own food to eat. i saw how easily life springs up under the shadows of the trees even in the heat of a valley summer, and remembered that white people tore all of those life-giving trees down to plant rows of crops to sell off and to build labyrinths of identical houses. the answer is that the state of california is just another part of the capitalist colonial government that exists to perpetuate itself and kill everything and everyone that stands in its way, even until there is no california to rule over, burnt to the ground and then swallowed by the pacific.
no one has cared for the land better than the indigenous people who colonizers set out to erase. dont forget the damage that is done, because colonizer governments with no attachment to the land will never fix the ecological disasters they benefit from, even if that government is california, which brands itself as the most climate-conscious and progressive state. i encourage other americans to research the land you live on to learn what it was and who took care of it before it became built cookie-cutter houses, lawns, and factory farms. listen to the voices of indigenous people around you. it will be frustrating and saddening to learn what has been destroyed, but we have to learn.
anyway. #landback
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heliads · 3 years
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Lie For Me
When Scott McCall ends up being trapped by hunters, the last thing he expects is to be saved by one of them, a Y/N L/N he knows from school. He later finds out that she is a werewolf as well, and she needs his help as much as he needs hers.
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The woods are beautiful at night. The gentle rustling of leaves against the boughs, the silver light of the moon spilling down into the trees. Emerald green melts into deep oak and mahogany. It’s one of the most soothing places in all of Beacon Hills. Scott McCall would love to appreciate this prime example of nature, but he’s a little distracted by silently cursing Liam for running off into the woods and getting himself discovered by the hunters.
Clearly, Scott doesn’t have this whole alpha thing on lock. He had thought it was going fine, that Liam was finally making headway with managing his emotions. It was a difficult enough transition for any wolf, but for a boy with Liam’s anger problems? It turned out to be practically impossible. Scott’s been trying to think of anything from when he had been a beta, of any helpful tricks Derek had taught him. However, Derek’s version of teaching Scott about being a werewolf had basically consisted of disappearing for days at a time and then showing up out of nowhere to lurk ominously across a parking lot. Not a lot of help there.
The most he remembered from Derek was that one line the older werewolf had uttered to him, when Scott had wound up in the middle of the woods with a supernaturally charged heartbeat racing through his veins. “The bite is a gift.” “We’re brothers now.” Scott had tried out those same phrases on Liam, which had gone about as well as one could expect, with the boy storming away. Well, at least he’d tried.
But ‘just trying’ hasn’t really given Scott the results he had been hoping to see. Liam had gotten into some argument, probably with that boy from Devenford Prep- Brett or something- and stormed away into the woods. The only problem was that it was late at night, the moon was out, and the hunters always chose this time to go on patrols, looking for lone wolves. Lone wolves such as Liam, or at least Scott, who is chasing after him. Scott believes that Liam has managed to get away, but only because Scott distracted them. This has the unintended downside that about a dozen hunters are currently on Scott’s tail, and he has no idea how to get rid of them.
Scott leaps over a ravine, taking advantage of the sudden increase of ground in between himself and the hunters to duck around a stand of trees. There’s a large rock face a short distance from him, and if Scott can manage to get over there, he just might be able to lose the hunters once and for all. Just as he’s about to cross the final leg to the rocks, however, he hears the sudden sound of a dozen running feet and an arrow flies an inch away from his head. Looks like the hunters have caught up.
They’re gaining ground quickly, too. Unlike Scott, they aren’t constrained by the need to hide, and can blunder through the woods far faster than him. Scott throws himself behind a grove of trees, leaning back against the rough wood of the trunks and listening to the hunters draw closer and closer to him. They appear to have passed him, and then they fan out and begin searching in earnest. Scott’s heart feels like it’s in his throat. If he moves, they’ll hear him, but if he stays, they’ll see him. What does he do now? The choice is made for him when Scott sees a pair of black hunting boots stop in front of him, and then a pair of eyes meet his.
Scott is about to extend his claws and try to make a run for it through this nearest hunter, but his movements slow when the figure quickly places a finger against her lips, signaling for him to be quiet. The hunter shifts slightly, and the moonlight washes over her face. Scott’s eyes widen as he realizes he recognizes the hunter- it’s a girl from his school, Y/N L/N. 
Y/N seems to recognize him as well, and he can see panic warring in her eyes as she tries to figure out what to do. Then she points towards the forest behind him, at a hole in the undergrowth. She whispers quietly, the sound only audible to Scott’s supernatural hearing. “Go. Quickly.” Scott nods, and turns and runs as fast as he can, disappearing into the night. He hears Y/N loudly walk back towards the other hunters, stepping on as many twigs and crackling leaves as she can to hide any sound of Scott’s movement. “I didn’t see him over here.” So she’s covering for him- but why?
Even after Scott manages to make it out of the forest, he’s still confused. If Y/N is a hunter, and her entire family are also hunters, why would she save him? Scott knows other teenage hunters, and they’ve never let the simple fact that they are schoolmates with a werewolf stop them from killing. In fact, they seem to take added joy in making the demise of a former friend turned wolf as gruesome as possible. So why would Y/N disregard all of that to save his life?
Scott decides to get some answers when he returns to school the next day. Y/N sits at a table outside with a couple of friends, and Scott waits until those friends disappear to the lunch line before he slides into a seat next to Y/N. She looks up, but seems unsurprised to see him. “You made it out.” She says, and Scott nods. “All thanks to you. I have to ask, though- why did you save me? I’m used to hunters being more of the merciless type.”
Y/N looks around, as if making sure nobody is watching them, then casually moves her hand onto the table next to Scott. It’s hidden to any passersby by her lunchbox, so Scott is the only one to see the werewolf claws extend from her fingertips. Once she’s sure Scott has seen them, she flicks the claws away as if they were never there. Scott stares at Y/N, speaking as quietly as possible. “You’re a werewolf? But how- I thought hunters weren’t allowed to undergo the change.”
Y/N tilts her head in acknowledgement. “They’re not. Nobody knows except you and me. I was bitten a couple of months ago, by some werewolf who wanted to send a message to my family. I managed to get rid of him so he wouldn’t tell anybody, but there was still the issue of the bite. I know I’m supposed to kill myself because death is meant to be better than living as a werewolf, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I’ve been as careful as I can to make sure nobody finds out.”
Scott shakes his head, amazed. “That must be terrifying, living so close to the hunters and having to keep that secret. How do you do it?” Y/N shrugs. “I spend as much time as possible at school or with friends. I figure the less time I’m around them, the less likely they’ll figure it out, right? I’m very careful not to get paper cuts, so they can’t see me heal. Plus, I have a sudden and extreme dust allergy that just happens to flare up whenever I’m handed a container of wolfsbane. What’s nice is that I know what they look for when trying to figure out whether someone is a werewolf, so I can just do the opposite of all that.”
Scott glances over at her, taking in the stress lining her brow. “I’m impressed that you’ve managed to keep it a secret, but that’s going to be hard. If you need any help, any at all, ask me. It’s hard to be a lone wolf, but it’s even harder to be alone in a house of hunters. You saved my life last night, I’d like to be able to begin to pay that back.” Y/N smiles. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
Scott is walking past the lacrosse field after practice when he first hears the howl. It’s quiet, as if someone’s doing their best to hide it, but it’s there nonetheless. Scott turns around to try to find the source, noticing Liam freeze in place as well. “Did you hear that?” The younger boy asks, and Scott nods. “I think it’s Y/N. I think she’s in trouble.” Liam glances around to see if anyone’s watching, then looks back at Scott. “Go find her. I’ll make up some excuse to Coach.” Scott claps Liam on the shoulder in gratitude, already starting to sprint away from the field. He doesn’t know how long Y/N has until the hunters find her, and he intends to get there first.
Scott was able to track the howl fairly quickly. It only came once, but he could get a rough location thanks to his supernatural hearing- roughly around the woods. Besides, the forest is the only place that makes sense- if Y/N was trying to maintain control over her claws and fangs, she’d probably want to go to the one place where she wouldn’t be immediately caught by her hunter family. Not her house, or the town, but the woods. Of course.
Scott turns out to be right about the woods- he finds her after only a couple of minutes of searching through the tangled briars and wind-swaying branches. She’s huddled under a large California maple, back pressed against the trunk. One hand is pressed against her temples, the other over her mouth as she tries to bite back another howl. When she looks up at Scott, her eyes are a glowing, burning yellow. 
Scott approaches slowly. “What happened? Talk to me.” Y/N breathes out harshly, as if trying to regain focus, then begins speaking. Her fangs flash in her mouth with every word. “I was with the other hunters, in the house. They started talking about the werewolves they had killed.” She stops talking, as if physically forcing herself to stay calm. “They were so proud of themselves. One of them pulled up a picture on his phone. Scott, the body was a teenager. Just a kid. Younger than I was, and he was so proud of it. It made me sick. I barely managed to get out of there before losing it.”
Scott nods, then kneels to the ground in front of Y/N so they’re sitting next to each other on the leaf-strewn ground. “That sounds horrifying. They’re all horrifying.” Y/N shakes her head in disbelief. “And they’re the ones calling us monsters. I hate that I have to keep hiding from them. I have to live around them all the time, and it’s just going to get worse.” Scott watches as she tries to make herself return to a more human appearance, practically forcing her claws away. Scott reaches out and grabs her hand. “This is how you’ve been trying to hide? Y/N, you’re hurting yourself.”
Y/N looks away. “It’s what works. I don’t have much of a choice.” Scott puts his hand on her cheek, gently guiding her eyes back to his. “You do have a choice. You always have a choice. Even when it seems impossible, you always manage to do the right thing. You saved me from those hunters even though they could have hurt you. Honestly, it’s amazing how you’ve managed to stay afloat in the middle of all this.” Y/N’s angry expression brightens at that, and all of a sudden her eyes lose their golden glow and return to normal. Her claws slowly retract, as do her fangs.
She stares at him. “How did you do that?” Scott shrugs. “A big part of the shift is just losing control of your emotions. Sometimes it’s handy to have someone stay here and help talk you through it.” Y/N smiles at him. “Thank you, Scott. I mean it.” She breathes in and out slowly. “You don’t know how much of a relief it is to go back to normal.” Scott stands up, extending a hand to Y/N to help her up. “Hey, no problem. We all have to have each other’s backs, right?”
Y/N seems about to respond, and then her eyes lock on something behind him. Too late, Scott realizes that the vague noises echoing in the forest around them are not just woodland animals and birds, as he’d assumed, but more distinct. Human footsteps. Y/N’s eyes widen in a panic. “Those are my parents. They’re out hunting. Scott, they’re going to find out.” Scott can feel her shaking slightly with terror. He looks for a way out, some escape route, but there’s nothing. The hunters are closing in on all sides, and they’re only seconds away from finding the two of them. Just before the hunters swarm out from behind the trees, Scott whispers something to Y/N. “Trust me.”
Then there are guns pointed in their direction, guns held by a multitude of hunters. Too many to fight. Besides, a fight wouldn’t have saved them anyway- they would still wonder why Y/N, who was supposed to be one of them, was out in the forest with known alpha Scott McCall. Scott’s mind is a whirl of thoughts, and then he realizes what he has to do. Quickly, he grabs Y/N over to him, extending his claws and holding them over Y/N’s throat. He can feel the panic radiating over her, threads of betrayal making their way to the surface. He mutters something quietly under his breath, something only Y/N can hear. “Go with it. Please.”
One of the lead hunters, Y/N’s father, cocks his rifle. “What are you doing with her?” Scott just tightens his grip around Y/N’s throat. “You’ve been messing around with my pack too many times. I’m here to send a warning.” The hunter laughs, although Scott is pleased to hear a note of worry in the undertone. “We all know this is fake. Scott McCall would never hurt someone.” Scott tilts his head to the side, considering this. “I would never hurt an innocent. She’s a hunter, there’s a difference.”
The lead hunter’s eyes begin to cloud over with panic. “Okay, you’ve said your message. Now let her go.” Scott shakes his head. “That’s not how this works. You’re going to leave the werewolves alone, all of them. Even the lone wolves that aren’t a part of my pack.” The hunters scoff, and another one steps forward. “Why would we ever do that?” Scott’s voice lowers to a threatening pitch. “Because if you don’t, I’ll tear her throat out right now.” It’s a lie, an obvious one to anyone with supernatural hearing. Y/N can hear the hesitation in his heartbeat, and knows that Scott couldn’t do it if he tried. But the hunters cannot hear that reluctance, only see the scarlet glow of his eyes and the monster they’ve always thought him to be.
Anger replaces fear in the leader hunter’s eyes, and he signals to his men. “Like hell you are.” Suddenly, a bullet flies out of the woods and lodges itself in Scott’s arm. He reaches back away from Y/N, fighting the pain in his bicep but watching the skin already begin to reknit itself. The second Scott’s grip loosens, the lead hunter calls out to his daughter. “Y/N, quick! Run!” Y/N’s eyes dart to Scott, and he nods almost imperceptibly. She turns and sprints towards the false safety of the hunters. The other men swarm Scott, grabbing him and forcing him away. Just as Scott is dragged out of the woods, he turns to see one last glance of Y/N, who stares at him. Her eyes are full of terror.
Scott is taken to some hunter stronghold. He’s fairly sure that he’s in the basement of one of the hunters’ houses. Maybe even Y/N’s. It doesn’t really matter, though- he’s a little distracted at the moment. The hunters are lording it over him that they’ve managed to capture a true alpha, and rewarded him with a fairly large dose of torture. It’s not the first pain he’s experienced at the hands of hunters, and it likely won’t be the last, but that doesn’t mean that this doesn’t hurt. He’s been tied to a metal grate at the back of a basement, wires strapped to his arms, legs, and chest. Whenever the hunters feel like it, they’ll up the voltage and a shower of sparks will descend over his vision. 
They’ve left for now, but Scott groans inwardly when he hears the sound of footsteps descending down the stairs. He was hoping for at least a little more recovery time, but it doesn’t look like he’ll even have that. His head is hung low, and he can’t see the approaching hunter until they’re only a few feet away from him. Then they pause, and Scott bites back a growl. “Why bother standing there? Just get it over with.” But the hunter doesn’t turn on the electric shocks. Instead, they walk even closer, and gently raise Scott’s head with the palm of their hand.
Scott’s spirits lift when he realizes the hunter is Y/N. She’s looking at him, horrified at what her family had done to him. “Give me a second, I’ll get you out of this.” She grabs a knife from her belt and starts sawing away at the restraints binding his arms and legs. Scott attempts to shake his head. “No, don’t. You have to go- they’ll see you.” A light smirk flickers across Y/N’s face. “Actually, they won’t. They’re all off at some bar on the other side of town, taking the opportunity to celebrate their capture of the one and only Scott McCall with some cheap beer. They won’t be back until late tonight, and they won’t be able to think straight until noon tomorrow.”
The last of the ropes have been cut away, and Scott rolls his shoulders, wincing from the stiffness already starting to creep across his limbs. Y/N watches him, pain flickering across her face. Scott glances over at her. “Don’t feel bad. I made my choice.” She shakes her head. “I should have done something to stop them. To stop this.” Scott reaches out and takes her hand. “There was nothing you could do. I’d rather have you stay alive then save me from a few shocks.” Y/N considers their intertwined hands. “You shouldn’t have had to choose.”
Scott places a hand on Y/N’s face, gently guiding her eyes to his. “We’re not human. We’re always going to have to make impossible choices, that’s who we are. And I chose you in the woods, and I will continue to choose you whenever I can. You’re a good person, Y/N, and good people rarely get to make easy decisions.” Y/N’s look of guilt fades away, and she smiles at him. “Actually, I can think of one easy decision right now. Let’s get out of here. I don’t want to spend any more time in this basement.” 
Scott chuckles. “I can agree with that.” The two of them head quickly out of the door, and escape into the brisk chill of night. As they both make their way through town, Scott can’t help but look over at Y/N and smile. He meant what he said earlier to her- he intends to put her first in every day to follow. Today is just the first instance when he can say that out loud.
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walaw717 · 3 years
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Single trees are extraordinary; trees in number more remarkable still. To walk in a wood is to find fault with Socrates’s declaration that ‘Trees and open country cannot teach me anything, whereas men in town do.’ Time is kept and curated and in different ways by trees, and so it is experienced in different ways when one is among them. This discretion of trees, and their patience, are both affecting. It is beyond our capacity to comprehend that the American hardwood forest waited seventy million years for people to come and live in it, though the effort of comprehension is itself worthwhile. It is valuable and disturbing to know that grand oak trees can take three hundred years to grow, three hundred years to live, and three hundred years to die. Such knowledge, thoughtfully considered, changes the grain of the mind. - Robert Macfarlane, The Old Ways: A Journey on Foot Recently we drove to Couer d’Alene. North of town, I saw a strikingly handsome building set in a grove of old-growth trees. It was not a natural landscape, but when the building was constructed, the developer had left some ancient Douglas fir and ponderosa pine and created the impression of a long solidity in the landscape for his construction. It is rare for a builder to go to such trouble because it is simpler and more economical to clear a lot and build than to build around trees and other natural landscape elements. As we sat at the traffic light and I studied the property with its balance of trees, the stone and woodwork of the building, I wondered how the trees had experienced this construction and the loss of so many other trees in that particular stand. Two years ago, I witnessed a tree apparently doing something that I suspect I was not meant to see. Marilyn had just placed a planter full of new young plants on a deck rail, which was under the canopy of a very ancient willow. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught movement and turned just in time to see the willow purposely lift a frond and stroke the young plants. The action was like an arm lifting and then stroking the plants, and the movement occurred twice, lifting and returning, lifting and returning like a parent might stroke the head of a much-loved child. I have had the privilege of many odd and spiritual experiences – especially after I moved to New Mexico. Still, this particular moment in the pacific northwest haunts me as maybe the most significant spiritual moment of my life. I feel as though I saw a moment we are not privileged to see, and if we do see, it is under the influence of a mind-altering chemical like LSD, a moment when our ego is de-potentiated and no longer in control of our perceptions. I have had such experiences using LSD, but that was 50 years ago, and I doubt that I was having a flashback at this late date. Humanity suffers incredible hubris. We speak of looking to space to find intelligent life when we are actually looking for life like us. I suspect if we ever do find life like us, it will be terrifying – it will be a life driven by insularism and an attitude that cannot see us as an equal and will more than likely only see us in terms of our utility or see us in terms of something in the way, much like we see trees, wolves and everything else on this planet. We now scientifically know that trees and plants in forests have a massive communication network of mutually sustainable interactions. “In the 1960s, CIA interrogation expert Cleve Backster experimented with polygraph machines when he stumbled onto something novel. He noticed what appeared to be a change in electrical resistance with one of the plants, to which he connected the polygraph equipment whenever he removed a leaf or even “threatened” to harm the plant by intent alone. He likened this sudden electrical pulse to a “scream” emitted by the plant in response to endangerment. While Backster’s theory was considered a crackpot idea, many would follow similar, unusual observations about the behavior of plants, which seemingly represented a sort of “communication” they might be capable of.
For instance, a 1989 AP article discussed what one physicist, named Ed Wagner, believed were evidence he found of plant communication via what he called “W-waves”: Physicist Ed Wagner says he has found evidence that trees talk to each other in a language he calls W-waves. “If you chop into a tree, you can see that adjacent trees put out an electrical pulse,” said Wagner. “This indicates that they communicated directly.” Explaining the phenomenon, Wagner pointed to a blip on a strip chart recording of the electrical pulse. “It put out a tremendous cry of alarm,” he said. “The adjacent trees put out smaller ones…. People have known there was communication between trees for several years, but they’ve explained it by the chemicals trees produce,” Wagner said. “But I think the real communication is much quicker and more dramatic than that,” he said. “These trees know within a few seconds what is happening. This is an automatic response.” Wagner has measured the speed of W-waves at about 3 feet per second through the air. “They travel much too slowly for electrical waves,” he said. “They seem to be an altogether different entity. That’s what makes them so intriguing. They don’t seem to be electromagnetic waves at all.” Another physicist, William Corliss, also took an interest in Wagner’s discovery, noting that, “The voltage measured by electrodes implanted in trees goes up and down as one goes higher and higher up the trees… incidentally, electricity does seem to affect plant growth.” In more recent years, the idea of plants capable of forms of “communication” has been considered a bit more thoughtfully and is not outright shunned by the scientific community. One leading modern researcher and advocate for the varieties of ways plants communicate is Suzanne Simard, whose work with plants has helped set new precedents for how interactions between various species of flora occur. Simard’s research began to coalesce around what became a doctoral thesis two decades ago, in which she argued that a variety of communication methods were used by trees to achieve everything from expressing their needs to sharing nutrients “via a network of latticed fungi buried in the soil.” She further studied the varieties of ways that fungal filigrees were exploited by trees in ways that allowed them to send signals to other plants nearby about changes in the environment and even “helping” endangered plants by transferring and sharing nutrients with them. Speaking with “Yale Environment 360” last year, she talked about how, as she puts it, a forest “is a cooperative system,” saying: “To me, using the language of ‘communication’ made more sense because we were looking at not just resource transfers, but things like defense signaling and kin recognition signaling. We as human beings can relate to this better. If we can relate to it, then we’re going to care about it more. If we care about it more, then we’re going to do a better job of stewarding our landscapes.” Despite having communicative abilities, plants generally aren’t deemed to have any sort of intelligence. However, there are still some members of the scientific community that argue this is not necessarily the case. Author and researcher Michael Pollan, who studies the field of plant neurobiology, argues that plants are more perceptive than many would think: “They have analogous structures… They have ways of taking all the sensory data they gather in their everyday lives … integrate it, and then behave appropriately in response. And they do this without brains, which, in a way, is what’s incredible about it because we automatically assume you need a brain to process information.” Understanding how various life forms on earth communicate and cooperate with each other gives us a much broader sense of what “life on Earth” is truly about. It also challenges us to consider whether more complex interaction systems exist between organisms, including those that aren’t deemed intelligent or even responsive, by humans. In the case of plants, it seems unusual that these organisms, while deemed
to be very much alive, have long been relegated to being unresponsive and “vegetative,” in the most literal sense. Maybe it’s indeed time we start paying closer attention to our floral kindred and the subtleties of their interactions with each other and their environment.” Trees That Talk: The Bizarre World of Plant Communication Micah HanksJuly 2, 2017 As I come closer to the ending of my own span of years on this earth, I have become more acutely aware of the commonality I have with all life. Fear and suffering appear to be the same across all species, and I am beginning to wonder if love is also – not romantic love, but the deep logos love spiritual people have written about for millennia. I understand there are reasons we avoid seeing these connections and being aware of the “intelligence,” love, and fear of life around us. The Danish/Inuit Arctic explorer Kund Rassmussen once wrote, “The greatest peril of life lies in the fact that human food consists entirely of souls. All the creatures that we to kill and eat, all those that we have to strike down and destroy to make clothes for ourselves, have souls, souls that do not perish with the body and which must therefore be pacified lest they revenge themselves on us for taking away their bodies.” That is seen as a very primitive view, yet I wonder in our confusion of scientific methods for technological growth and exploitation if we are the primitives and the barbarians. I suspect our blindness to the intelligence of life here on earth, intelligence other than ourselves, is summed up in that statement. Maybe all intelligence really is is the knowledge that everything is connected and what we call intelligence is a form of narcissistic blindness. Perhaps the natural intelligence is in the willow, lifting a frond to stroke young plants that came under his/her/its protection and scope. Maybe the only innate intelligence is displayed in how we honor, respect, and care for everything. In addition to slowing me down in my interaction with the world, I find that this view brings me a sense of greater peace and a change in focus about what is and is not essential and how to express that “essentialness.” I also have greater clarity about what the ancients meant when they wrote of a fear of God. It is not a fear full of the pain of punishment – it is an awe that is hard to express and is likely to bring tears and an awareness of the pity of things and our oneness with everything.
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theshapeshifter100 · 2 years
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Wolf and Raven: Old Friends Chapter 18 (Final)
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She returned to the camp before dark, as Cyrus had asked. Raven of Old and Erina had returned from their trip to the Fortress and were still deep in conversation. Catching up for lost time. Haryad floated above the two, adding his thoughts every now and again.
Raven was speaking with Cyrus, and Satyarani was sitting peacefully by the campfire.
“Did you visit pleasant places?” Satyarani asked Wolf as she entered the camp.
“Aye. I thank you for pushing me to do so.”
“You have spent enough of this quest dwelling on negative memories, you should allow yourself some happiness.”
“I will try,” Wolf glanced at Raven.
Satyarani inclined her head before looking over at Raven of Old and Erina. “I would suggest you speak with Erina sooner rather than later.”
“I was raised better than to interrupt a conversation.”
“You may have to. At best you have three days, and they may continue to catch up for the rest of that time.”
“…They will have to stop to sleep at some point.”
“We may but hope,” Satyarani smirked.
Wolf sat down by the fire, poked a few of the logs with a stick before gently falling backwards to lie on her back. The stars were just beginning to appear in the sky above.
She was not quite as at peace as she had been in the Enchanted Oak’s grove, but there was some peace.
She heard someone approach and set something by her head.
“I know you are not asleep,” Erina commented.
“I never pretended otherwise,” Wolf tilted her head to see what Erina had dropped by her head. Sitting in the grass was a tankard with a metal wolf’s head in the middle.
“…Did you retrieve this?” Wolf sat up and picked up the tankard.
“Aye. We took our time around the Fortress, and we found this in the old dining hall. Consider it an apology for my behaviour yesterday.”
Wolf froze before returning to turning over tankard. “It was a stressful time yesterday.”
“It did not excuse my behaviour. I am not blind Wolf, I saw the look on your face.”
“Ah, so that is the reason,” Wolf half smirked. “Still, I thank you for retrieving this.”
“My pleasure,” Erina looked like she was going to walk away, and Wolf realised she needed to grab her while she still had her.
“Erina.”
“Yes?” she turned back.
“Does the previous arrangement still stand? That I will leave in 3 days from now?”
Erina’s face creased in confusion, before widening when she remembered.
“Oh, oh, my apologies, that had slipped my mind. Of course that requirement is lifted. You are no longer exiled from Alaunus. No hidden clauses, stipulations, or time limits.”
There was no true magic in those words, no light, no sparks, yet they felt like magic. Wolf nodded slowly, unable to stop the smile that was pushing onto her face. She was welcome on Alaunus. She was welcome on Alaunus.
She was still grinning when Raven came to sit next to her.
“You appear very pleased by something,” she commented.
“I’m welcome on Alaunus,” Wolf half whispered, as though if she said it too loud it would all disappear. “I am no longer exiled.”
Raven also smiled. “I am pleased to hear it. Will you be staying?”
The good mood faded for a moment. “I think not. I do need to return north, but I will be able to return to the land of birth whenever I wish, and that is enough. And perhaps I will seek out people I used to know on the mainland.”
“I would be happy to aid you in that.”
“And I thank you my friend.”
 ---
Wolf did not sleep much that night. Not out of fear of nightmares, but instead she was filled with a bubbling energy that made her want to dance and laugh. Just sitting by the fire she felt her legs bounce, even when she turned to whittling to curb the energy.
This was the first time in a long time that whittling had not focused errant energy, yet Wolf found that she didn’t mind.
She got at least some sleep that night, yet found herself awake at dawn. Looking at Raven, Wolf found herself having an idea, and waited impatiently for her to wake up.
“Raven,” Wolf hovered close as Raven stood up, stretching.
“Yes Wolf?”
“There is somewhere I would like to show you, if you wish.”
Raven tilted her head slightly. “Of course.”
“Shall we depart now, or do you need to wake up more?”
“You have been bouncing with energy since last night Wolf, I fear if I wait much longer you might explode,” Raven smiled and stood up. “Let us go.”
Wolf beamed right back before creating a portal. The two stepped through onto the shore of a loch.
“This Lochan Caer,” Wolf introduced. “And this is not quite our final stop. Come come!”
Raven followed Wolf as she darted along the shore, looking for something specific.
“It should still be here…” Wolf cast around, “here!”
She darted across the grass towards a small rock half buried in the ground. She had to dig around it before she could lift it up.
Underneath was fishing supplies, or what was left of them. Time had not been kind to them, the line was frayed and the net had broken or been nibbled on. What was left of the bait had long since rotted or been eaten.
“Ah. I suppose I had let my hopes get a little high,” she gently lowered the rock back down.
“What is down there?” Raven leaned over her shoulder.
“Some old fishing supplies,” Wolf turned back to her. “They are no longer functional, which is a shame.”
“…Were you intending that we go fishing?”
“That was a possibility. I wanted to show you this place.”
Raven slowly turned to look at the scenery. “It is a lovely place. I assume this place has some significance to you?”
“Lowf and I used to come here. We would fish or swim and make a campfire. It was not always the two of us, but it often was.”
“You must have many memories on this island, I have not had a chance to ask.”
“I do, most of them are bittersweet now. My old home has not been touched in some time, the watchtowers I oversaw are in ruin. I have not even looked at the Fortress, and I am not certain that I wish to.”
“Then where did you go yesterday? Cyrus told them that you left upset, but when you came back, you were almost content,” Raven sat on the rock hiding the fishing supplies, and after a moment Wolf joined her, the wind tugging at their hair.
“I went to see where I was captured. I would most likely have moved onto where I was held without Satyarani’s intervention. She has been very patient with me this entire quest, but then admonished me, asking me what was the point of dwelling on these memories. And I will admit, I finally no longer feel the need to do so. I will most likely fall into old habits, but I can work on that.”
“I am glad that she was able to help you. Was it last night that helped? You seemed more full of energy and cheer than I had ever seen you.”
“Aye, it was. I feel more at peace, and I was not aware of how much that was needed.”
“I am glad for you my friend,” Raven rested a hand on Wolf’s shoulder.
“I thank you,” Wolf gave a lopsided smile before turning to her staff. Her brow creased with an idea, and closing her eyes she placed her staff into the ground.
Raven startled as ghostly blue images sprung into life. A tall man with broad shoulders walked towards the shore, a squirming child half sitting on those shoulders, half trying to climb down his back.
He walked into the water up to about his calves before unceremoniously grabbing the child and dropping them in the water.
The ghost emitted no noise, but Raven could almost hear the indignant shriek and the following laughter.
Another ghost, the same broad-shouldered man with thick curly hair sat by a campfire with who Raven now recognised as a young Wolf. She wore her hair loose here and was easily in the youngest age bracket of some her Warriors. Here she was talking and whittling at the same time, and Raven winced as she nicked a finger, but the younger Wolf did not seem to notice.
There were a few more ghosts, some swimming, some fishing. A handful were on the island in the loch. They slowly faded until one was left. The same man as before, perhaps a little older, and Wolf, with a cloak and Staff. The two of them hugged, and the last pair of ghosts faded.
Wolf opened her eyes and Raven looked over at her. Wolf’s face was blank, but oddly peaceful.
“Was that the last time you saw him, Lowf?” it did not take much for Raven to guess who that had been.
“Aye. The Battle of Bryn Brahan was two days later. And a few days after that I was a prisoner,” Wolf huffed and leaned back a bit. “I am already returning to old habits! It was good to see him then.”
Wolf shifted and sat up a little straighter. “Listen to me, I have only ever spoken of myself. How are you feeling Raven? We did not get the chance to talk much yesterday.”
“I am well, the Warriors have safely returned to the mainland and I have been catching up on some much needed sleep,” Raven looked out towards the loch, and let the wind out of her sails. “May I confess something to you?”
“Of course.”
“I have not had much of a chance to speak with Raven of Old, and now that he is returned…” Raven struggled with the words. “I feel as though I am no longer needed, and yet,” she lifted her staff to make the point. “Am I to be forever within his shadow?”
“I would think not,” Wolf considered for a moment. “While the world is certainly richer to have Raven of Old in it, it would be far poorer if you were not. You have done great things. You came to the aid of a stranger, you organised this quest, you made it so that Raven of Old could return. You ran into that portal without even thinking in order to aid him. And that is what I know you have done, doubtless you have many other great deeds to your name!”
Wolf paused for breath. “Without you many of us would not be here. Even the act of reaching out to Satyarani is impressive; to know that Raven of Old had such an ally and where to look is a feat in of itself.”
Raven had gone rather pink. “Wolf… I fear you are exaggerating, my friend.”
“Am I? Or am I embarrassing you, my friend?” Wolf gently nudged Raven in the shoulder, who after a moment, nudged back.
“Both.”
“Raven, I assure you that I am not exaggerating, and many more great deeds lie in your future.”
“…Thank you,” Raven allowed herself a smile. “That does not quite alleviate all of the concerns I admit, but it is an excellent start,” she looked at the staff again. “I am Raven now, but of course, I was not always Raven. It is almost a title if I am honest.”
“I had assumed as such.”
“…Would you like to know my name from before I was called Raven?”
“Only if you are comfortable sharing.”
Raven did not speak for a full minute, before quietly muttering the name. Wolf could only just hear it over the breeze coming off the loch, but hear it she did.
“I am honoured that you shared that with me.”
“I have not heard the name is some time,” Raven shifted her shoulders, much like a bird. “Was there anything else you wished to do?”
“My only other thought was to explore Alaunus in our other forms, and if you find somewhere interesting I could tell you about it.”
“Cyrus informed me of a great deal of the Island’s history, but I have not seen the eastern side yet.”
Wolf’s eyes gleamed. “Then let us be off.”
---
Well, here we are! This has been a ride to do and I enjoyed going into it. As always, I have some thoughts on the project
Part of me did consider continuing from here, this was not the intended end point, but Wolf is just so happy here, so it felt good to end on this point.
Next, Raven's name. The name itself is not important, the act of sharing it is the important thing here. I see Raven as more of a title in this case, but it's one that gets used a lot for her. That said I'm quite fond of Arven for Raven's name. Headcanon more than anything else. Now, the elephant in the room, at least I think. Wolf and Raven's relationship. While not explored greatly in this story I still have thoughts. The relationship between Wolf and Raven was always intended to be platonic, even the original version back when I was a teenager. Yet I can see the relationship becoming romantic, and I know I'm not the only one, and this is frustrating. Part of me does want to keep going down that track, see where it goes, the other part is fully aware that if I was a reader and a close platonic relationship turned romantic, I would be livid.So, I'm opening this one up to you guys. What do you think? I make no guarantees on successfully writing (especially as my brain's been jumping around to writing other ideas in other fandoms) but I do honestly want to know what you think. And I'm afraid 'it's your story, do what you want' is not going to be helpful, even though I understand the intent.
With that, next on my agenda is stories going forward. I do not think I will be doing a full story with Wolf again, but I do have shorts from Wolf's past and future, and an idea that was cut but still written out that I would like to share, as well as bits of the universe I want to explore but not write a full length story for. So a One Shot series may come about. My posting schedule for that is not as strict, a one shot will come out whenever it's ready, multishots will stick to the Monday/Thursday schedule. It will mostly depend on my motivation, so those kinds of updates would be sporadic to say the least.
I have started writing Old Friends but from Raven's perspective, admittedly haven't gotten far. I have also had thoughts about writing the OG version of Wolf and Raven, with Raven of Old, with some ideas that would have been cool to include in the one I originally posted, if only I had thought of them in time.
There are no promises on my finishing those by the way, I just thought you guys might be interested. Finally, some music
Curses by the Crane Wives is one I have a full mental AMV for
My R by KurageP (annapatsu cover) is another one I kinda have an AMV for. Listen to that song at your own discretion, it's a heavy song with themes of suicide. I have it so that all the different people are just Wolf at different ages. (Trust me Not) Hero and Villain duet by TheCrazyPanda on Youtube. The mental AMV is an entirely non canon sequence where Raven of Old goes to see Wolf earlier in her exile
Ordinary cover by annapatsu. I partially blame me listening to this on loop for influencing Wolf's and Raven's relationship to lean romantic
St Bernard by Lincoln. No real thoughts on that one, just a few lines of not. “I’m in Ohio, satanic and chained up. And until the end, that’s how it’ll be”
Just, the image of Wolf, bleeding in the tent in Nevar’s camp, and fading from a side image of Wolf’s new injury to a much older Wolf with the scar.
I would like to thank my beta reader @fairyofsomething for always being enthusiastic and being willing to listen to me ramble.
And I believe that's it. Hopefully it won't take another two years for me to be heard from again!
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trvelyans-archive · 4 years
Text
past and present
a comm for the wonderful @dauntless-necromancer of morrigan and kieran and their warden elrich cousland <3 thank you for commissioning me ! 
also for context because i didn’t post the first one, in this fic morrigan and kieran live in the mountains while elrich is searching for a cure for the calling ! and kieran’s a teen now, iconic ! i hope you enjoy !!! <3
-
It was just supposed to be a walk. 
Kieran often walked across the mountain vistas surrounding his and Mother’s new home – it was his only escape whenever they were in an argument or she needed a few hours alone after receiving another letter from Father with bad news. He had a few paths he liked to walk the most, but sometimes he explored a little further than the last time; a little higher up the cliffs than he was able to reach when he was younger. 
He was 19 after all, now, and growing into his own. He was a short child – he hadn’t been taller than Mother until he was 14 or 15 - but now that he was (finally) an adult, he was gangly. (At least that’s what Mother said.) He had strong arms and legs, plenty strong enough to be able to pull himself up and over the higher ledges on the mountains, but they looked thin and ropy, and Mother always told him that he was much stronger than anyone would ever assume he was at a glance. 
“Which isn’t entirely a bad thing,” she’d said after, kissing him on the forehead as she brushed past him to reach the cupboards where they stored their herbs while they two of them made dinner. “It will be much easier for you to take them by surprise that way, after all.”  
She said that with a twinkle in her eye, then, and that always made everything better. 
Today, though, things were different. Kieran left in a huff after they’d gotten into another one of those arguments they seemed to have every couple of days at that point – there were messages and letters from Father that Mother sometimes kept quiet despite Kieran practically begging to see them, and he had had enough. He wanted promises too, after all. He wanted Father to tell him that he was okay, that things were okay, that he would return to his family one day soon when his work was finished. He didn’t want to hear it from Mother – of course she would tell him that. She would do everything for him.  
Or… most things, at least. Except read him Father’s letters or let him write one of his own in return. 
So he left, wrapped up in his favourite cloak with a full waterskin, a pack full of food, and a journal that Father had sent him several years, and Mother stood at the doorway, watching him go with a frown on her face. He was entirely intent on returning before evening fell – because, really, there was no where to go - when he found himself stuck in the middle of a blizzard. 
A few years ago, when he was younger, he would have been much more scared of being stuck out in the snow by himself. That wasn’t to say he wasn’t scared this time – he was, especially because he quickly realized that he accidentally forgot his warmest mittens back home – but he knew how to deal with this kind of thing much better. 
After all, there wasn’t much else to do up in the mountains but explore. Read, write. Take a walk.  
Get caught in a blizzard. 
He laughed to himself and pulled his hood up higher over his face, trudging through the quickly rising snow into a thick grove of pine trees. On every couple of branches, every couple of trees, hung little clay ornaments Kieran sometimes made when he was desperately bored in the middle of summer, and the sight of the few that he could tell were made by Mother calmed him a little. Blizzards ebbed and flowed quite often up here in the mountains, so it would only take an hour or so for this portion of it to pass. Of course, that meant Kieran had to take shelter somewhere to wait it out safely, but he did not mind very much. It just gave him time to think about the letter he would write Papa when he returned home, whether or not Mother wanted him to or not. 
She didn’t have to know… 
Not that he liked keeping secrets from Mother. She was all he had – for now, at least, until Papa would join them in the mountains one day soon and they’d be together again – and they had to trust each other to stay alive. They were as close as a mother and her child could possibly be, she always said. They had respect for one another, even though they had seen each other in their lowest moments, and they tried not to keep any secrets between them, no matter how dark or scary they were. 
No secrets, and yet she always hid Father’s letters. 
Kieran frowned. He wasn’t going to apologize first this time. 
After all, he always needed some sort of distraction nowadays to keep him from dwelling on all the thoughts in his mind; so he could ignore the voices that he sometimes heard at the back of his head even though he knew no one was behind him. Though Mother didn’t like to talk about it very much, there was something different about him – something that had always been different about him. For the longest time, he thought it was normal, that everyone felt that way – especially after he had gone to Skyhold with Mother to meet the Inquisitor and tried to befriend some of the other children there - but around the time he turned 17, Mother sat him down and told him… well… a lot. A lot of things he never expected to hear but also, somehow, that he saw coming at the same time. 
He huffed as he leaned against a tree and slid down into the snow, pulling his cloak around his body and swinging his pack down from his shoulders to hug it against his chest. He had a book in his bag, but he wasn’t content on bringing it out right now – the snow would surely melt against the pages, and he had no intention on smearing the ink when his books were the few prized possessions he actually had. Instead he tipped his head back against the tree and looked up, at the flurries of flying snow, at the muted grey sky beyond them. 
And then, somehow, he fell asleep. 
He did not wake up on the mountain. 
The first thing he thought when he awoke and his vision cleared was that, somehow, he was actually very thankful he hadn’t brought his warmest mittens along. They would have made his current condition much, much worse, as every other part of his body was sweating. 
He squinted as he glanced up, raising a hand to shield his eyes from the bright sunlight streaming through the leaves in the trees – not pine needles, he noted, actual leaves – and staring into the sky. There was no trace of any clouds above him, grey and stormy or otherwise, and, in fact, it seemed like quite a beautiful day. So beautiful, in fact, that he was lulled into a foolish sense of security for a moment before bolting upright.  
He was far, far away from home. 
Before he started moving, he shed his heavy coat and draped them over his arm after pushing up the sleeves of his shirt but left his cloak on, pulling his hood higher up over his face. He could not remember if it was summer or not – he often forgot such things because they lived so high up in the mountains that the seasons didn’t mean much besides it being slightly colder in Wintermarch and vaguely warmer in Justinian - so perhaps he had no reason to be too worried. It could be that he was somewhere in the foothills of the Frostbacks and it’d only take a week or so to return to Mother – well, if the weather held out like this… 
But he knew the treacherous roads of the Frostbacks as well as anyone, and he knew well enough that once he reached higher altitudes the trek would become much harder. 
So, then, knowing that, perhaps instead of a week it would be more like… three. Give or take a few days for the weather, any issues with the roads, and especially considering that he wasn’t certain he was in the foothills, anyway. After all, the terrain felt much different; the flora was unlike anything he had seen in recent memory. Based off of his knowledge of the world alone, he could’ve been in… the Free Marches. He could’ve been in Orlais. He could’ve been anywhere. 
And everywhere, right now, seemed very far away from home. 
But there was no point in worrying about it in the meanwhile, at least not until he started moving and got a sense of where he was. He couldn’t undo… whatever it was that had just happened – or, at least, it was very unlikely he could undo it, especially since he didn’t know how it had happened in the first place - and sitting here, dwelling on it and twiddling his thumbs meant he was wasting precious time. Kieran heaved a heavy sigh and started off towards a gap in the trees, figuring that it was as good a place as any to start. 
Kieran liked to consider himself an optimistic person – he had forced himself to be when he started growing older - but after only a few minutes, he was beginning to realize just how much he sounded like his mother. 
That hurt more than he wanted it to. 
Thankfully he had his waterskin, and a book in his bag he could read if he got bored. This was not the type of forest he was used to – there were no swollen roots or long, overhanging branches – and, if he felt so inclined, he could probably take out his book and read while he walked without it slowing him down too much. Perhaps tomorrow he’d take his mind off of things by reading while he travelled – that is, of course, if he didn’t have to use his book as kindling tonight. Which made him feel… more miserable, somehow.  
He was out of the forest within an hour, and across a meadow in the next. The cloak was slowing him down slightly – it was heavy, thick wool – but he thought it would be best to keep his face hidden for now, even as he descended down a short hill into another thicket of oak trees. Pausing, he leaned against a tree and pulled out his waterskin, uncorking the top and tilting his head back to pour a stream of water into his mouth. 
When he felt the tip of a knife against the back of his neck, he couldn’t help but choke. 
He recovered quickly, though, and wiped his mouth on the back of his neck while he turned around slowly with his hands raised in defense (one still holding his waterskin, which he was dangerously close to spilling).  
“Ah,” the man said quietly. He was an elf, with tanned skin and golden hair, and though he was considerably shorter than Kieran and quite a bit smaller, the knife at Kieran’s throat didn’t do anything to make him feel less intimidated. “I must admit… you looked much more threatening from behind.” 
Kieran frowned. “What is that supposed to mean?” 
“It means that perhaps I should not run you through right now,” the man replied, taking a short step back. “Not that I was planning to, really – the man in charge would not approve – but, if you had posed a threat… well, the thought crossed my mind.” 
Kieran crossed his arms over his chest. He could be plenty threatening. This man didn’t know what he was talking about. 
“Who’s this ‘man in charge’ you’re speaking about?” he asked. 
The man laughed, and Kieran felt his annoyance grow even stronger. “I do not think I am at liberty to disclose that information to anyone quite yet,” he said. “At least not without getting a fair punishment in return. Saying that, I do suggest you move along – some of our friends are, well… not very open to strangers, and –“ 
“Zevran?” 
A woman stepped out from behind the elf, a woman with bright orange hair and a medium build who looked unsettlingly familiar. “Who’s this?” she said, eyes narrowing and nose wrinkling. 
“Perhaps a bandit,” Zevran said. “Does not quite look the type, to me anyway, but appearances can be deceiving, no?” 
The woman rolled her eyes. “He’s probably just a villager from the nearby town,” she told the elf before turning to Kieran. “Is there something wrong? Have you lost your parents to the Blight?” 
The Blight? 
The Blight was almost 20 years ago now – the Blight, Mother said once, is the reason Kieran was born in the first place; the reason he had the abilities to read things and feel things the way he did. 
How did he end up here? 
“No,” he answered hesitantly. “I mean… Yes, I have. My mother and father are…” 
He didn’t finish. He didn’t quite know exactly what to say. 
“I am sorry to hear that,” the woman said, taking a step closer. “Would you like me to keep them in my prayers tonight?” 
Zevran, the elf, cleaned the flat side of his blade with his thumb, never taking his eyes off Kieran. 
“Yes, I would appreciate that very much.” Kieran shifted uneasily on his feet, glancing at the woman from underneath his low-hanging hood. “If you don’t mind me asking, what’s your name?” 
“I am Leliana.” She smiled at him. “And you are…?” 
Leliana. Of course. Kieran remembered Leliana well from his time in Skyhold – she had been in several strongly-worded discussions with Mother late at night when she stopped by their quarters. She looked younger, now – happier. And much, much less tired. 
Kieran knew that time travel was a possibility – he’d heard some rumours about Tevinter Magisters travelling through time several years ago – but he wasn’t well-versed in how it worked enough to be able to have done this himself. 
There had to be a reason he was here, and he was determined to figure it out. 
“Kier,” he said after realizing she was waiting for a response. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Leliana.” 
“You, as well.” She glanced over at Zevran. “See? He’s not a bandit. If he is, he’s certainly better at conversation than the rest of them.” 
“Yes, yes, he is a wonderful conversationalist,” Zevran replied. “However, Leliana, I do believe we have duties to attend to, hm?” 
“Ah, yes!” Leliana offered Kieran a dazzling smile. “Well, I’m sorry about your parents, Kier. May the Maker watch over you.” 
Leliana and Zevran had been two of his parents’ companions during the Blight. Leliana was one of the few people who had tried to reach out to Mother after her and Kieran left the Inquisition following the defeat of Corypheus, even if they had never quite become friends. If they were here, that must have meant his parents were around, too. 
And he wanted so badly to see them, to see what they were like when they were younger… 
“Do you have room for another person to travel with you?” he blurted out before he could stop himself. 
And Kieran thought Mother was suspicious of outsiders now. After seeing what she was like during the Blight, he’d never think that again. 
It had been a few days of travelling with them – which still felt incredibly weird and alien to him – and though she glared at him less and less in camp, she still glared at him every chance she got. It made him feel sick to his stomach to see her glaring at him like that, and each time she did he felt like there was something he needed to apologize for.  
There was, really, a whole list of things to say sorry about. I’m sorry for not respecting your privacy. I’m sorry for letting my emotions get the better of me. I’m sorry that I just miss Father so much – 
And then, well, he stopped finding things to apologize for and instead found things he wanted her to apologize for, so it was a little bit of a moot point. Especially because this wasn’t the right version of his mother he had to apologize to. 
And perhaps he wasn’t helping by always keeping his hood up in camp, but there was nothing else he could do, really. He couldn’t very well wear a mask without arousing even more suspicion. And though Leliana took a shining to him, and Zevran was about as nice to him as Kieran wanted, Mother and Father – or Morrigan and Elrich as he had begun to force himself to call them – didn’t pay very much attention to him at all. They were too wrapped up in each other to notice. 
While he sat in the opening of his makeshift tent, he watched them. It was nice – in his time, he had only seen them together when he was a young child, and he scarcely remembered any of those times very well. But here, during the Blight, they talked and sat together. Even if they didn’t sit too closely or too intimately – even if Morrigan kept her distance – they were… together. And that was what mattered to him, really, in the end, even if he couldn’t be a part of it. He just wanted his parents to be together and for him to see it. It made him happy when they acted like a real, true family.  
They hadn’t done that in a very long time. 
Besides that, though, there was still a tension between his parents that he couldn’t deny, but he didn’t quite know why it was. He’d known that his grandmother – whatever she was, in the end – wasn’t very kind to his own mother, but he didn’t understand how that affected her. After, Father was sitting beside her in front of the fire with a hand in the short space between their bodies, and Kieran could tell he wanted to reach out for her. So why didn’t he? And if he did, why wouldn’t Mother let him? 
One night, when rain trickled down from wispy gray clouds and left a thin mist over the camp, he sat in the mouth of his tent as always, watching them, and this time he was close enough to hear. 
“… Even you aren’t immune to my charms, are you, Morrigan?” 
Morrigan glanced away, down at her hands. “I am immune to every man’s charms, Elrich,” she answered. 
“You don’t have to be,” he said softly. 
She looked over at him and smirked, but Kieran could tell there was a sadness behind it – a sadness he had seen himself in their time. “Oh?” she said. They were sitting closely together – much closer than Morrigan sat with anyone else in camp – but she wasn’t close enough to rest her head on his shoulder or hold his hand. “You think you know everything I’ve been through, do you?” 
“No,” Elrich responded, “I didn’t say that. I meant, rather, that you don’t have to be immune to every man’s charms – certainly not mine.” 
Morrigan sighed. “Have we not been over this enough?” she asked quietly. 
“We have,” Elrich answered before offering up a small, sad smile of his own. (Kieran realized how much he looked like his father, in that moment – the colour of his eyes, the shape of his hair. He used to look much more like his mother as a child, but now the gentle slope of his jaw had turned sharp, and he had to shave quite often in the golden looking glass Mother had displayed in her room.) “I just thought I would remind you.”  
“Your reminders are… welcome.” She stood up suddenly, reaching up to adjust the cloak around her neck so it hung more tightly across her shoulders and chest. “I should turn in for the night.” 
“I should, too.” Elrich stood up beside her and tilted his head down to look at her, eyes roaming across her face for a long moment before he backed away with a slow, approving nod. “Goodnight, Morrigan.” 
“Sleep well,” she said, turning on her heel and heading back towards her tent. Not without shooting Kieran another glare, first, but this time he didn’t care. He pulled his hood higher over his head and inched back into camp, closing the tent doors behind him. 
There must have been some reason that Morrigan did not feel safe initiating a relationship with Elrich – there must have been something to inevitably draw them together, as well. The rings that his mother and father both wore in his time were not worn by either of them right now, so he supposed that that should have been his first step. 
After he got some sleep, of course. 
As always, his dreams were plagued with phantom faces looming over him and shadows that slunk into darkness at the corners of his eyes. Voices that somehow sounded distant and close at the same time whispered in his ear, and he could feel the ground vibrate with every step one of the blurry figures took towards him from a cloud of dense, green fog. Some of it was Elven – he had known how to speak it since he was a child – and some of it sounded older; more ancient. He knew what the language was and who it belonged to, but he just couldn’t put it into words for himself. This is how he had slept every night. And as always, when he finally awoke, his brain was tied into knots that took him several long moments to pull apart so he could finally breathe again. 
It helped to have Mother around to sing him lullabies when he woke up. He suspected he would not be able to ask her now unless he wanted to risk being flayed alive. 
That day, the voices echoed in his head as they climbed small mountain in the foothills of the Frostbacks (too far away from Mother for him to turn tail – he didn’t think it would work, anyway). They were heading for Orzammar, Elrich had told Kieran that morning when he emerged from his tent covered in a thin sheen of sweat. They had business with the Dwarves to attend to. Kieran was neither pleased nor displeased at the announcement – it gave him time to figure out with the words floating around in his head meant; what exactly they were trying to tell him to do. 
It was hard when Elrich kept asking questions.
Not that Kieran didn’t want to talk to him - he really, really did. After all, that’s what had gotten him into this in the first place. It was just... well, this was the wrong version of his father to talk to, and he didn’t want to give anything away.
But his emotions won out, in the end - instead of telling him to leave him alone like he should’ve, he sat down around the fire with him and made breakfast. Well, watched Elrich make breakfast.
“So, are you from Ferelden?” Elrich asked, glancing over at Kieran.
“Yes,” he answered.
Elrich smiled, eyes crinkling around the edges with amusement. “You don’t sound Fereldan,” he commented. “Can’t imagine this is a very nice time to see the country.”
He sounded the same as he always had - dignified, confident, and most of all kind - but his voice was much higher, and Kieran couldn’t help but snicker at how hard his father was trying to sound mature. 
“Well, the company is good,” Kieran replied. “I cannot get any safer than I am travelling with two Grey Wardens.”
Elrich leveled an even, unflinching stare at him, though Kieran could see a flash of fear in his eyes. “You know?” he asked.
“Yes,” Kieran said. “It’s not that hard to tell, really.” 
Elrich laughed. “What gave it away? The Griffon breastplate?”
Kieran laughed, too, and then realized how much it sounded like his father’s and stopped. “Perhaps,” he said. “My mother always says - er, said - that I’m very observant.”
“Well, your mother sounds like she was a smart woman.” Elrich pulled the pot of soup off of the fire and set it on the ground, where it melted the thin layer of snow around it. 
“She was,” Kieran replied, tilting his head to hide his smile.
“What happened to her?” Elrich questioned. “Darkspawn?”
“You could say that,” Kieran responded.
“I’m sorry.” Elrich scooped a spoonful of porridge into a bowl and handed it to Kieran. “If it makes you feel any better, something worse than Darkspawn killed my parents.”
Kieran flinched. He knew what happened to his father’s parents, but he and his mother had always agreed that, selfishly, they were slightly thankful - they would not be here if it wasn’t for them. However, hearing his father talk about it now, when the wound was still fresh... it hurt.
Especially because Kieran felt the same.
“I’m sorry,” Kieran murmured, looking down into his bowl while his eyebrows drew together in thought.
“It’s alright,” Elrich replied. “Thank you, though, anyway. I do hate the Darkspawn - more than anything. I hate them for destroying beautiful Ferelden land and killing villagers - like your parents. I hate that they’re leaving young people without a family.”
“You’re not that much older than me,” Kieran pointed out with a laugh.
“True.” Elrich spooned some porridge into his own mouth, chewing thoughtfully. “I’m trying my best to be strong, but... it can be hard sometimes. Knowing that I carry the weight of the country on my shoulders, that so many people’s lives are in my hands...” He swallowed hard, glancing down at his bowl with a bitter laugh. “I suppose I shouldn’t be complaining. Things have turned out better for me than they do for most, and with any hope, this should all be over soon so I can...” He cleared his throat. “Settle down once more.”
Kieran winced and hoped Elrich didn’t notice - he had no idea how much longer he would have to wait to do the settling he wanted.
“You’re doing a great job,” Kieran offered quietly, than quickly added, “from what I have seen so far, anyway.”
“Thank you.” Elrich smiled at him. “That’s very kind of you to say.”
“Just... make sure you don’t lose sight of what is most important.” Kieran let out a gentle sigh, losing himself in his thoughts. “Family. The people you hold dear. They are what you’re protecting, after all.” He frowned. “They are worth more than anything.” 
“That they are,” Elrich replied, then glanced over to where Morrigan’s tent was opening. His eyes lit up, and a hopeful smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. “Speaking of which... I need to go speak with Morrigan. Excuse me.”
He stood up slowly as he assembled a second bowl of porridge, and when he hurried over to Morrigan and handed it to her, she stared at it for a long, long moment before taking it tentatively from his hands and smiling up at him. A small smile, but a smile nevertheless.
Kieran looked away, ignoring the ache in his heart.
He packed up his own tent, rolled it up, and watched as everyone prepared for the day - Leliana stretching in a warm patch of sunlight, Zevran sharpening his knife with his tongue between his teeth. They looked so normal and calm - Kieran had no idea how they did it. Although, he thought, they didn’t know what was going on in his head either - they probably wouldn’t be able to live with the thoughts and the voices as well as he did.
That made him feel better, at least.
At midday, when the sun was at it’s highest point, they were about to begin ascending a mountain pass towards Orzammar - the first of many, he remembered, having studied the map of the Frostbacks several hundred times - when, suddenly, they heard a guttural roar in the distance and a burst of flames blazed across the path in front of them, leaving melted snow and charred rocks in their wake. 
A dragon. 
No wonder the voices had been so loud. 
Up ahead, everyone drew out their weapons, but Kieran kept back – he had nothing more than a simple dagger Leliana had given him, and he wasn’t sure he could wield it efficiently enough. Wynne, the older mage who came from the Circle of Magi, summoned an ice field to separate the dragon from the group while Leliana notched one of her arrows and aimed it at the creature’s neck.  
It swooped down in front of the group. Alistair and Zevran rushed forward to slash at it, led by Elrich, and Wynne and Leliana attacked from the sidelines while Morrigan watched, creating a dark purple sphere of shifting magic in her hands that she flung at the dragon with unnatural power. It wailed and wailed but did not relent, reaching out to swipe at them again, but Elrich got a hit in before it could hurt any of the party.
Kieran pulled his hood higher up over his head, unsure of what to do. 
Zevran and Alistair continued assaulting the beast’s legs while Elrich slid underneath its stomach, hacking at the dragon’s underbelly which seemed to be covered in a thick layer of dark, heavy scales. Morrigan and Wynne flung balls of spirit magic at it over and over in quick succession, and Leliana aimed her arrows to try and pierce the dragon’s eye – they bounced off like flimsy pieces of metal, but she did not give up. They were shouting at each other over the roaring – directions and suggestions and cries that the others stay safe or be careful – and none of them seemed to notice that Kieran was not joining the effort. If they did, they didn’t notice. 
At one point, deep into the battle, Morrigan hurried to Elrich’s side and casted a shield around him while Wynne tended to his wounds. Though their faces had all been creased with battlehardened lines, when his mother and father looked at each other in fear, Kieran could see a fear there. After Elrich had been healed and stood up on shaky legs to attack the creature again, Morrigan held him back by the arm. When he turned around to look at her, a bolt of lightning came forth from the tip of her staff and struck the beast on the nose. A current of electricity tore through it. 
The dragon let out a guttural cry and reared up on its hind legs, futilely lashing out at the party, but they all stumbled back from its reach before it could land a blow. It squirmed and thrashed in the cold air, claws scraping the rocks on either side for leverage, before it finally slumped down onto the rocky ground, chest heaving as it took one last breath until it lay there, dead. 
A tired cheer echoed through the mountain pass, and the party looked at one another, giving them relieved smiles or grateful pats on the shoulder. 
Except for Elrich and Morrigan, who were hugging tightly. 
Kieran smiled. 
He hadn’t seen that for a long, long time.
That night he lingered in the mouth of his tent like always, pretending to sharpen his dagger while he listened to his parents talk around the fire. 
Well, there wasn’t much talking. They set up camp a few hours after slaying the dragon so everyone could tend to their wounds, and Morrigan never left Elrich’s side while Wynne stitched up the larger ones that Morrigan said she didn’t want to touch. She didn’t leave his side through dinner, either, and now, in the dark of night when neither of them were supposed to still be awake, she held his hand tightly, staring into the fire. 
“What are you doing?” he asked with a laugh, nudging her shoulder with his.  
“Considering whether or not to flay myself alive,” she answered with a slight smirk. 
“Always so dark,” Elrich said, shaking his head while he chuckled. 
Suddenly, Morrigan turned to him, a crease between her eyebrows. “I have something for you,” she said, blinking. 
“What do you mean?” he asked with a grin. 
“I mean that I have a gift for you,” Morrigan said. She reached over to her pouch, where she slid her hand inside while keeping her eyes trained on him, and then fished out a smaller pouch from inside. “’Tis… a ring. Now, before you get any foolish notions, let me explain.” 
Except she said nothing further until Elrich prompted her with a nod of his head.  
“Yes, um… Flemeth once gave me a ring because it allowed her to find me wherever I went, in case I was ever captured by hunters.” She passed it back and forth between her hands. “I disabled its power as soon as we left the Wilds. Recently, however, I thought to change it. Now…” Morrigan glanced up at him. “I will be able to find whoever wears it, instead.” 
Elrich tilted his head, reaching out to place his hands over hers. “That’s a sweet gift,” he said. “Thank you.” 
She blushed. “’Tis not given out of sentimentality,” she said. “I believe you are too important to risk. If you were captured, the ring would allow us to find you quickly.” 
“Does it do anything else?” 
Morrigan pulled it out of the bag and looked at it, squinting slightly. “Flemeth used to say it was a link between us; one that I presumed worked both ways. I never tested it, but I doubt she would have lied over such a thing. So it would mean that I am linked to you as much as you to I.” 
He inched closer, taking it from her gently. “So I could find you, if need be?” 
“I… do not know.” She frowned. “As I said, I never tested it. Perhaps.”  
“I’m glad to know you care,” he told her. 
To Kieran’s surprised, she looked offended. “D-do not read more into it than is there,” she said. “You have supplied me with equipment, certainly this is not very different, is it?” 
“Thank you for the gift, Morrigan,” Elrich replied, placing it in the palm of his hand and curling his fingers tightly around it. 
“You… are welcome,” Morrigan replied, clearing her throat. “Perhaps it will be useful some day.” 
They said very little after that – instead they sat beside each other, arms and legs and shoulders touching like they were connected at the waist. 
Occasionally, Kieran could see his father glancing down at the ring and smiling.  
Elrich retired to his tent first that night, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind his ear before leaving, and just when Kieran thought that perhaps his mother was going to follow, she didn’t. Instead she turned around and frowned at him. 
“Enjoy listening to other people’s conversation, do you?” she asked, stalking over to his tent and looking down at him. 
“No,” Kieran answered, wrinkling his nose. “I respect other people’s privacy.” 
“You don’t fool me,” Morrigan said. Though it was said harshly, Kieran didn’t think it was an accusation. “There’s something you’re not telling everyone else – they have not noticed, but I have. Why are you travelling with us?” 
“I had to,” Kieran replied, staring her down for a moment before shuffling into his tent and closing the entrance tightly behind him. 
He woke up, to his surprise, in his own bed back home with the same woman leaning over him. 
-
“Foolish boy,” Mother was muttering, tucking in his blanket between his bed and the wall. “Foolish, foolish boy.” 
“Mother?” Kieran asked, pushing himself up from the bed. 
Mother glanced over at him and sighed. “How could you scare me like that?” she asked quietly. “You could have frozen half to death, or –“ 
“I’m fine, Mother,” Kieran said. 
“No, you’re not. You nearly have frostbite. Foolish, foolish boy – what will I do with you?” 
“Mother,” Kieran began, “I would like to write father a letter.” 
Mother stopped what she was doing, hesitating for a long moment before turning towards him. “I don’t think that is a good idea,” she replied softly. 
“I want to write him a letter,” Kieran insisted. “I know you don’t want me to be disappointed that he has not returned to us yet, but I won’t be. I’m more disappointed that I haven’t heard from him in several months.” 
“Well, neither have I.” Mother frowned, looking down at her wrinkled hands. “He is far away from here. He’s alive, but I… I fear he might not be for much longer.”  
“He will be.” Kieran drew his chin up. “I know he will be. I can feel it. And I would like to write a letter to him.” 
Mother sighed once more and glanced over at him, and just when he thought she was going to get mad, her lips curved into a wickedly pleased smile. 
“Very well,” she responded. When she moved to stand, Kieran followed, but she waved her hand at him in exasperation. “You stay here,” she said, smiling. “I will bring it to you. You need your rest.” 
“Thank you, Mother,” Kieran said, smiling. “I love you.”  
Mother squinted at him. “Perhaps you hit your head as well.” 
“Mother!”  
“I am just kidding,” she said. “I love you too, you foolish, foolish boy. Now lie down.” 
When Mother left, closing the door softly as to not disturb him, Kieran’s eyes fluttered shut despite himself, and he nestled down beneath the blankets, already thinking about what he would – and definitely should not – write to his father about.
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bcbdrums · 4 years
Text
Stone House, Forest of Oak
AO3 link --> https://archiveofourown.org/works/24158797
FFn link --> https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13583219/1/Stone-House-Forest-of-Oak
(Regarding the links, pick your poison!)
A Drakgo Fantasy AU for @duckymoose because she cheered me up when I didn’t think I could be cheered.
I've never done fantasy before, and as I researched the specific lore I get into, sources I found were conflicting and even directly contradictory on facts. It appears that when it comes to fantasy, authors write whatever they need to make their story work. So...that's exactly what I did.
I repeat, this is a Fantasy AU.  Rated “M” for violence, dark themes, and mature themes.  Full story below the cut.
---------------------
Prologue
A stone house stood timeless in a small clearing on the shallow slope of a hill. The hill was the highest in the land, but the house was concealed by trees that peppered the sides of that hill and others, as far as the eye could see. Oak and ash, beech and elm, and so many others grew wild over the land that was largely untamed.
But years passed on the Earth, and the years brought change.
Towns would spring up in the fertile valleys between the hills, but they either remained small or were quickly abandoned, once their people learned of the horror that lived in the stone house. But the knowledge never went far in the wild land, and so centuries would pass with town after town rising and falling, their peoples fleeing or falling prey to the dark terror from atop the hill.
New centuries brought new ideas. And in the present day, whenever the people built their towns they would cut the trees. Gone were brick and stone and sod, as logs and timber took their place. Timber for their houses and furniture, timber for their wagons and the boats that sailed the river. The once-lush hills became sparse. And as the need for lumber grew, the number of woodsmen increased, and the clearing of the forests on the hills happened ever faster. The natural beauty of the land was slowly destroyed, and the forests dwindled to thin groves of no use or enjoyment to anyone.
But on the shallow slope of the hill the stone house remained, because no one ever dared to go near enough to cut the trees that surrounded it. For fear of their lives they stayed away, and would only whisper among themselves of the horror that lived there.
Those that knew and endured made their peace with it, knowing that any day they would either live or die. The three closest towns formed a dark agreement, that to protect that which they loved most they would sacrifice the weak. And in that cycle the three towns were sustained and grew, never losing respect for the terror of the stone house.
Over time their people prospered, and their populace grew. And the numbers of the trees grew ever less.
---------------------
Shego's chest ached for breath as she ran through the grove of trees, her pursuers closing in fast. Each time she glanced back their torches grew nearer, and her step grew slower. But she had to keep going, as far away as possible even if it meant her life. She couldn't betray her home to them, her beloved and wise old oak.
Even under the cover of night and with her silent steps, the dryad's pursuers never faltered. They had tracked her for years, memorizing her paths and patterns, driving her further and further away from her home, until that night they had finally cornered her as she took her human-form to cross the river. But cross she had not, because it would lead back to the one place she could never let them find.
She wouldn't let them near her home as long as she had breath. She would be a willing sacrifice for her oak and had nearly already been on many, many occasions. She could still feel the agony of the woodsmen's blades from the times they had caught her in the past, and her arm was bleeding sap from the axes that had glanced her that night. But the idea of her own death, as terrifying as it was, wasn't nearly as horrible as would be the death of her oak.
So she ran.
She must have been running for an hour that time as her pursuers refused to relent. Her human form, unused to such rigors, was giving out. She had been struggling to find real cover on the ancient hillside, so sparse with trees due to the humans' interference. But in the distance down the other side of the hill she could see the tall towers of beech and elm that would be her salvation. If she could only hide herself, take her true form...
The men would search for awhile, as they always did, but then they would give up. And she would spend yet another day trying to get back home.
She darted around a small, straight row of ash saplings, her heart feeling as though it might burst, when she stopped suddenly. Between her and her destination was a stone house. And standing in front of it was a man, holding a spade in one hand and an oil lamp in the other.
Shego's head began to swim. She couldn't get to the trees without the man seeing her. And what if he was as bad as the others?
As she caught her breath and calculated her next move, she realized the man was tending a flower garden. A dirt path led away from the door of the house, and on either side were two small ponds with blooming water lilies. Standing above each pond were four trained angel's trumpets, their trunks growing against tall pillars of stone and their branches weaving into natural arbors along wrought iron bars above the ponds.
The man had leaned his spade against the house and was kneeling to tend some night orchids that grew by his door. Shego took a longer look at the stone house, far older than her hundred years. It was covered in climbing vines of white moonflowers, and the path that led away from the door was lined with beautiful evening primrose. Lush grass and purple verbena covered the ground everywhere around the ponds, and at the end of the path was a wrought iron trellis, also adorned with moonflowers. The roof of the house was sod, with green grass peeking through the vines.
Of greatest interest to Shego were the scattered dark manzanita trees that grew in between where she stood and the beautiful garden of night flowers in front of the house. She realized then that the even row of saplings she had passed weren't wild and had been planted, probably by the man of the stone house.
A shout from behind her caused her breath to catch, and the man looked up with a furrowed brow. Seeing his obvious care for growing things, she took a risk and darted towards the closest manzanita tree. She ran past it until she reached an ideal spot and then stood firm as she shifted into her oaken form, nothing more than a tree to any eye of man or beast that may light upon her. And to her relief, she didn't think the man of the house had noticed her.
Her pursuers suddenly appeared over the crest of the hill and from behind the last safety of old elms she had left, their torches high and blazing in the dark night. She held as still as possible, but the exhaustion of her human form was overwhelming her. She worried she wouldn't be able to stand for long. And while the manzanita was a blessing, it wasn't enough cover; she was the only oak near the house.
The shouting and the fiery glow drew nearer. Terror ripped through her aching heart as she saw the dangerous light gleam on the woodsmen's axe-heads. And then, the man tending the flower garden stood and turned to face her pursuers, a perturbed look on his face.
The woodsmen suddenly halted their approach just as they reached the saplings, looking as though they'd seen a ghost.
"It's...it's him!" a man shouted, his eyes wild as he pointed.
"It's Drakken!"
Shego looked between the woodsmen and the gardener, who looked mildly annoyed at the most by the presence of the intruders. But then a small smirk came over the man's face. He took off his gardener's gloves and dropped them on the path and licked his lips.
The woodsmen turned and ran screaming back over the hill from whence they came.
Shego looked back to the gardener just in time to see him roll his eyes, and he knelt again and continued tending to his night orchid after replacing his gloves.
'Drakken?' she thought. Whoever he was...his garden of night flowers was beautiful.
That was her last thought before her strength gave out. She slipped from her oaken form back into a human and collapsed on the soft earth below.
---------------------
Drakken sighed and shook his head as he trimmed the dead leaves from his plant. Why on earth a mob would come to attack him and then leave in a terror before even getting within fifty yards of his door was beyond him. And why a mob would suddenly appear after so many years... All of the surrounding towns were used to him. They made their sacrifices to him, and for the most part he let them be. Their attack made no sense.
A soft thud caught his ear, and he turned in the direction of the sound, toward his manzanitas. An unfamiliar pale green...something, was on the ground beneath the farthest tree, and there was a small cascade of oak leaves falling to the ground around whatever it was.
His brow furrowed. There wasn't a single oak nearby.
He rose from his knee and lifted his oil lamp as he walked the dark path between the ponds and approached the green form at the edge of his land.
As he drew near his eyes began to widen and his jaw slackened at the sight before him. The green form on the ground was...a woman.
He halted his approach at about twenty feet as he realized she was naked, though most of her form was covered by her thick, dark hair. As she lay on the ground beneath the manzanita, surrounded by the mysterious oak leaves, he wondered...
Had that mob actually been after her?
"Hello?" he called loudly. "Madam?"
There was no sound or sign of life from the woman.
He gathered his courage and approached her, his heart pounding for fear of what he may find. But the fear began to be replaced by curiosity as he neared her side and he realized... Her skin, while pale, was most decidedly green. Not that that should bother him, as his own was a pale blue. But he'd never met a green-skinned person before.
"Madam?" he asked again as he stood over her.
She didn't respond.
He knelt and with his glove-clad hands carefully began turning her over. Her dark hair fell away from her face and his breath caught. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Her long, dark eyelashes stood out against the pale green of her cheeks, and her lips were like the darkest wine.
His awe was interrupted as he dared to look below her neck, and he gasped not at the beauty of her womanly form but at what he saw marring it. Her skin was covered in scars, some shallow, some deep. There was a long, jagged scar almost straight across her midsection that looked to have been made with a saw. Another small succession of scars across her arm looked like they could have been done with his own pruning shears. And one deep, ugly scar across the swell of one breast looked to have been made with the careless throw of an axe.
He shook his head in disbelief as he looked at the beautiful woman, no part of her body save her face untouched by various blades. And two places on her right arm bled dark and slow as he allowed himself a closer look at her.
She had clearly been tortured for years, to have received so many horrendous scars. And she was so young—barely more than twenty, if he could guess. But what did he know anymore, at his advanced age...
"Madam? Madam?"
She still didn't respond.
Rage against that mob filled him, and he considered pursuing them right then and returning some of the torment they and those like them had clearly laid on the stunning woman. But her two bleeding wounds and her silence stayed his wrath for the time being.
He gathered her up in his arms and made to carry her into his house. After he tended to her and saw that she was well, perhaps learn of why she had been tortured for so many years... Then, the next night, he would avenge her.
Inside his stone house he laid her on his bed and began lighting his lamps. He couldn't remember the last time he lit his house so brightly, but he wanted to be sure he didn't miss any fresh wounds.
She was breathing, but had still made no sound or sign that she was aware of him. He worriedly filled a basin with water to clean her wounds and tore some strips of linen from an old shirt for bandages. He pulled a chair next to the bedside and turned up the lamp on the wall above before bringing the basin of water nearer.
In the bright lamplight, his breath caught again as he got a better look at her. Indeed, there wasn't a part of her body that hadn't been touched viciously by a blade, and the scars ran so much deeper than he had first thought. Captivated, he ran his fingers over deep gouges in her thigh that appeared to have been made by an axe.
Who would do such a thing? To mutilate such beauty and leave her alive, only to do it again and again? Because it was clear that the wounds had not all occurred in one or even a few incidents. What had been done to her had been done over a very, very long time.
He himself only tortured his victims when it was warranted. And after so many years on the Earth, he no longer took pleasure in it. Not even the weekly sacrifices the humans brought him. His life had become mundane, and futile. Only his flowers brought him joy anymore.
He dampened a washcloth in his hand and gently began running it over the slice in her upper arm that bled dark. The blood seemed to have dried and had something sticky mixed with it, as it took some effort to remove it. Once he had, he wrapped the wound with one of the linen strips and tied it tightly. He briefly wondered about infection, but thought that with having taken so many wounds in the past she must be impervious.
He moved on to clean the next wound and his eyes strayed to her face again. The symmetry of her features was almost unbelievable in its perfection, and with the pale green of her skin she had an almost ethereal quality to her. His eyes strayed to her dark hair, as soft as silk when it had brushed against his hands. And then he noticed... In the light her hair reflected an iridescent green, not purely black as he had first thought. There were even a few strands of crimson buried within.
He brought his hand up to stroke her hair as if mesmerized. The strands were impossibly thin but her hair was dense, cascading around her shoulders like wisteria. The texture reminded him of the most fragile of his flower petals, or perhaps the thinnest parchment.
His hand moved to brush against her cheek and left him with a further mystery. While her skin appeared as any human's save the green hue, the texture beneath his fingertips was rough. The feel of her skin reminded him of...tree bark?
He let his gaze travel to her full, luscious lips, as dark as the darkest wine he had ever tried, and also with a glossy, iridescent shine. They looked like two pillows, dense with blood...waiting to be tasted. He licked his own lips. But then he felt an odd pang in his chest and he forced his gaze elsewhere.
Where his eyes went was down, past her shoulders to her ample bosom, to her slim waist, and beyond. The scars couldn't hide what nature had given her, in the most perfect example of a woman he had ever laid eyes on. He looked away quickly before desires other than hunger could rise within him.
He wrapped her second wound and then sat back in the chair, troubled by the way his pulse was racing. It wasn't as if he hadn't seen beautiful women before. In his three-thousand years, he had seen plenty. But he had never...truly looked at any. Women, like men, were only victims. Occasionally he played with them in whatever way pleased him, even using them to sate the disgusting human-like lust that sometimes bore its ugly face as he would feed. But truly, they were only food to him; his survival for another few days, and nothing more.
Now, he was entranced. This woman was a beauty that was surely sent from heaven, tormented on earth for reasons he had yet to know... His heart ached for her, for the pain she had so long endured. And why? Surely a creature such as she could do no harm. His fists clenched in rage as he silently vowed vengeance against any who had ever raised hand or blade against her. And as he stared, bewitched by her beauty, he realized...he wanted her.
His heart pounded as the thought pressed relentlessly against his mind. He wanted her. In the depths of his soul, he wanted her. And he wanted her all to himself. His and his alone, to gaze upon, to worship her perfection for as many years of life as she may have.
He loved her.
He rose from the chair and rummaged in an old trunk of things he had stolen in an age past. Finding what he was looking for, he rose to his feet and was suddenly assaulted with dizziness that caused him to stumble. He glanced at the woman and licked his lips again, and the action was immediately followed by a stabbing guilt.
He sighed and dropped the feminine garment he'd removed from the trunk. He was getting careless in his old age, as he realized it had been far too many days since his last meal. He would go out to feed...and then return to the woman.
A chime from his wall clock drew a gasp from his lips as he turned and saw the time. It was nearly five in the morning.
He had spent all the night staring at the beautiful woman, and he was suddenly aware of how dangerously weak he truly felt. There was no longer time to go out and feed. But his body demanded he be nourished that night.
A sickening realization hit him as he backed away into the corner farthest from the bed, and as the clock finished its chime a horror he had never before felt clenched around his heart.
He brought a hand up to cover his face as he began to weep.
---------------------
Shego woke up to a dim light and an ache of weariness throughout her body. She lifted a hand to shield her eyes, and then she heard a sound like a human gasp.
Startled, she sat up and quickly assessed her surroundings. She was in a building, with stone walls and oil lamps. A window was carved into the wall opposite and revealed the violet light of pre-dawn on the horizon. She looked down at herself and saw she was sitting on...what she thought was called a bed. And she was wearing...clothes?
She heard breathing and her eyes found the source. The night's events suddenly came back to her.
It was the night gardener, standing in a darkened corner of the small room and staring at her. She recoiled in fear and pressed against the stone wall behind her, but...the man made no move to attack her. In fact, his eyes were hopelessly sad. And longing. She had never seen such emotions in a human before.
The man took a few heaving breaths, and then swallowed.
"Madam. Forgive my effrontery. I tended your wounds."
Shego looked down at her arm where the woodsmen's axes had glanced her as they cornered her in the river. The wounds were wrapped in linen bandages. Her gaze drifted to the fabric she had been clothed in. 'Dress' was the wrong word for the garment, but it was like one. It was a white gown of some type, loose and shapeless, the fabric somewhat translucent where it fell over her curves. It was long and sleeveless, the hem falling just above her ankles.
She took a nervous breath. She had never spoken to any creature but her own kind before.
"Thank you," she whispered cautiously. What were the man's motives? He didn't seem to have any intent to chop her down. She remembered that he tended flowers.
The man bowed his head and shook it as he took a step forward into the light.
"Don't...don't thank me," he said. His voice was hoarse and his tone bitter, and she realized he was crying.
He took a further step out of the shadows and she saw the revealing pale blue of the skin of his face and hands. She gasped in astonishment.
'A vampire!'
He lifted his head, and her eyes widened at the sight of the brown caking of old blood around his lips from his last meal, his dark hypnotic eyes, and the white fangs that glistened when his lips parted in a soft, shaky release of breath.
She had heard of vampires from the other dryads, but had never seen one until that moment. Tales of their shape-shifting terrors were legendary, but this one...looked desperately sad. She took in the rest of his appearance.
He was dressed as most men she had seen, except perhaps not as cleanly with the knees of his blue-gray trousers a bit grass-stained where he had knelt in his garden, and his white linen shirt looking to have seen far too many winters. His black hair was of a style she'd never seen and she supposed it must be very old as he wore it longer than other men, the ends just barely brushing his shoulders. His face didn't appear either young or old, but 'seasoned' as she studied him. And to her surprise the skin below his left eye bore a pale scar not unlike some of hers.
Suddenly, his gaze darkened. He turned and shuttered the window to the dawn and in a flash he had crossed the room and caught her around the waist. Her hands flew to his chest and she pushed against him with all her strength, but she was still weakened from her earlier flight of terror. And the vampire was stronger.
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, please...forgive me," he said. The fight slowly left her as her eyes turned to his face in confusion. "You're the most beautiful creature I've ever seen! Whoever harmed you deserves a fate worse than any death I could give them."
She stopped pressing against his chest as she studied his anxious face and his tears.
"Such perfection as you deserves better than this... Better than what they did to you. Better than a life cut short. I don't want to, please believe me, I don't want to!"
Her brow furrowed. He was strange... She thought she understood what he was saying, but...did he not know what she was?
Her thoughts were interrupted as he surprised her suddenly by bringing his shaking lips to press against hers, the touch soft and brief. Her eyes widened. She had never been kissed before... She had spent so much of her life hiding from the horrible humans, and protecting her oak.
The vampire suddenly released her and she fell to sitting on the bed again. He followed her down and a moment later was sobbing into her chest. Shego gasped as the man clung to her shoulders and his tears stained the thin garment he had put her in.
Just as suddenly as his sobs began, they stilled as he brought his face up to stare into her eyes. His eyes were a deep blue, and every second she looked into them she felt she was falling into a new world. But then he was gone, standing and pacing the room.
"I could make you like me, but...I couldn't condemn you to this eternity of loneliness," he said.
She tried to straighten the garment, suddenly concerned with her appearance. She ran her fingers back through her hair and sat up straighter as she looked at him. He had paused his chaotic, emotional tirade as he watched her, his brow furrowing in confusion.
"Aren't...aren't you afraid? Don't you understand that...I'm going to kill you?" he asked hoarsely.
She found a small smirk coming to her lips. She shook her head.
"You can't kill me."
A soft, awed gasp fell from his lips as he gazed it her in wonder. "Your voice... It's...so lovely..."
Shego felt a little self-conscious—something she couldn't ever recall feeling before. She watched as he blinked away the fascination in his eyes. He looked even more perplexed, perhaps at her words, and he paced a few steps in exasperation. After a minute he stopped and wrung his hands.
"It's...it's better that you're not afraid. Oh, I couldn't bear your screams!"
He advanced on her again and cried into her shoulder, one of his hands softly stroking her hair. She felt a warming in her chest and her smirk grew into a smile.
After her collapse outside his house she had been easy prey for any creature and their vile purposes. But this ancient entity who was clearly in need of a meal had waited... Had not woken her, but waited until she woke of her own accord, to apologize before he fulfilled his dark nature.
The warmth in her chest grew stronger.
His sobs lessened and he lifted his head, but didn't look at her face. Instead he lifted her hand and kissed her palm, right over the scar she'd obtained from a jackknife when she threw her hand out to defend a sapling from a reckless woodsman years ago.
The vampire...the night gardener, kissed her palm again, and then kissed the scar on her shoulder she'd obtained the very first time she'd run as little more than a sapling herself.
"Precious...perfect creature of the light," he murmured through tears. "Why did they harm you?" Her breath caught then as he knelt on the ground and kissed her thigh through the thin garment she wore, right over one of her ugliest scars.
He brought his face higher and kissed over the scar on her stomach that she'd obtained the first time she'd nearly lost her life, when she'd been forced to shift to her oaken form as woodsmen cut down the trees in her grove for lumber. They had decided she would make a nice piece of furniture and had sawed into her. The agony and terror of that moment was seared into her memory as she had stood still as long as possible, until she could take the pain no more and revealed herself and fled.
Her memory shifted again as the vampire kissed the swell of her breast and the scar left by the idle axe-swing of a child. The warmth in her chest grew into a heat like fire. And fire was fear. But then the man tenderly kissed her lips again, and the warmth faded into a pleasant calming through her every limb, like the touch of the rays of the sun on her leaves.
His lips left hers and she tried to look into his eyes. But at the brief contact he lowered his head in shame.
"It's not fair," he said bitterly. "You deserve so much more. I'm...so sorry. I'm so, so sorry! Please please forgive me!"
Somewhere in the distance, a rooster crowed.
"Goodbye...loveliest of all beings..." the vampire breathed. His lips found her neck and she felt the pierce of his fangs. But it wasn't anything like the horror of an axe or the ripping of a saw. It reminded her of the claws of a young bird, clinging to her branch for safety before its first flight.
The sharp touch intensified for a moment, and then the man drew back, his tear-stained face rife with confusion.
Shego shook her head and smiled. "I told you. You can't kill me. I'm not human."
The man blinked. "Oh, your voice... W-what are you?"
"I'm a dryad," she said.
The man's eyes grew distant and then he gasped softly.
"The oak leaves..."
She wasn't sure what he meant, but she started to rise from the bed. He moved away to give her space, but his face suddenly became desperate and anguished.
"Don't go!" he cried.
Her face saddened, and her brow furrowed. "Do you have any water?"
He blinked, and then poured her a glass from a jug on a sideboard. He handed it to her and she studied it for a long moment before pouring it gratefully over her arms and feet, though it wasn't nearly enough.
"I've never been in a house before," she said.
His brow was twisted in confusion as he looked between her face and the small puddle on the earthen floor. "O-oh..." His face grew thoughtful, but remained concerned. "You can...go outside."
As she stepped to the door he pressed himself into the corner, far out of sight of the exit. She peered through the door and then looked back to him.
"It's all right. There's no sunlight out here yet. That's...what you're afraid of, isn't it?"
He swallowed and nodded, nervously stepping out of the corner. She smiled softly and stepped through the door.
She made a slow turn and looked over his beautiful garden of night flowers and wondered about this vampire who had saved her. When she looked back to the stone house with its climbing moonflower vines and sod roof he was standing far away from the door and peering out nervously.
"What's this called?" she asked, picking up the skirt of the garment she wore. She spun once and watched the flow of the translucent material through the air, flinging her arms out to her sides while her dark, silken hair flowed around her.
His breath caught as he stared at her. "Oh, the way you move..." he said softly, and then he cleared his throat. "It's called a...chemise. A woman's undergarment."
She studied the fabric for a moment and then began pulling it off over her head.
"What are you doing?" he asked, his voice suddenly panicked. She tossed the garment a few feet away from her.
"I don't want to ruin it," she said, glancing at his face that had colored purple for some reason. She stepped over to one of his lily ponds and slid her feet thirstily into the cool waters. And then with a deep, satisfying sigh she shifted into her oaken form.
The waters were soothing to her roots, and she cast her invisible eyes back toward the house. The man was closer to the doorway now and peering at her with wide eyes.
"M-madam? I...I'm sorry, may I ask your name?"
"My name is Shego," she said, a few drying leaves falling from her branches as she spoke. She knew she had heard the woodsmen call his name during the night, but she couldn't recall. "What's your name?"
"Drakken," he replied.
'Drakken,' she recalled. The woodsmen had known him and been terrified.
"How long have you been here?" she asked.
"You mean...in this house?"
"Sure. How old are you?" she continued, changing the question.
She watched him furrow his brow. "I'm three thousand, two hundred and forty-nine years old. And I've lived in this house for over twenty-one hundred years. ...H-how old are you?"
"We're one hundred and twenty-seven," she said, a few more leaves falling.
"'We'?" he asked, taking a cautious step over his threshold.
"Me and my oak," she explained. The waters were reviving, and she was starting to feel more alert. A little bit of sunlight would be a wondrous relief...
Drakken shook his head. "I'm...sorry, I...don't understand."
"The oak I was born of. It's my home. It's part of me," she said. She wondered if a vampire could even understand.
"O-oh..." he said.
Her pleasant mood sobered as she continued to explain. "If those men kill my oak...I'll die. But I'll never let them find it, even it means only my death! I must keep it safe. That's why I keep running away. But...I miss my home so much," she said longingly.
She heard him gasp suddenly, and then he disappeared inside the house again. She followed where his gaze had been, and she saw the golden rays of sunlight hitting distant treetops below the crest of the hill.
After a moment of thought she shifted back into her human form, the waters having given her some refreshment. She left the nourishing pond and picked up the chemise she had dropped and followed him back into the house. He was standing in the far corner again, slightly hunched and looking very worried as he fidgeted.
"Thank you," she said again. He jumped and his face darkened to purple as he glanced at her, and then he looked away.
She tossed the chemise onto his bed and looked at him in confusion. He had seemed devastated with the idea of her death before... Shouldn't he be happy that she would live after all?
"What's wrong?" she queried.
"I'm just...very hungry," he said quietly. "And...they'll be back."
Shego felt her pulse race in alarm. "What do you mean?"
Drakken swallowed and straightened slightly as he finally looked at her. "Whenever there's a mob... Every fifty years or so, they find me... I leave and go to one of the caves, or the abandoned churches. I'll terrorize their villages until they either...just stop coming out of fear, or they agree to leave me be."
Shego's brow furrowed in confusion. "Why can't you do that now?"
Drakken shook his head. "Because the sun is up. Even if it wasn't, I'm...too weak to travel. When they come...they'll come in the daylight. And they'll kill me."
Shego felt her heart sinking. She didn't want this man who cared so much for the beauty of nature and who had protected her at his own cost to die. She thought furiously for a solution.
She could put her roots down in front of his door, so that when the woodsmen came... She grimaced and shook her head. That wouldn't work; they would just chop her down.
"Would you...put the chemise back on?" he asked, his voice interrupting her pondering.
She crossed over to the bed and picked up the fabric. "Why?" she asked.
"Um...j-just... I would appreciate it if you would."
She struggled for a moment to find how to slip the item over her head the right way.
"Can you help me?" she asked. "I've never worn clothes before."
His lips parted in a silent gasp, and then he shook his head. "You just...put it over your head, and put your arms through the arm-holes."
Shego fumbled with the chemise until she had it figured out and stuck her head and arms through the right holes. The translucent fabric fell over her curves again, and she wondered how many other garments existed that she'd not seen.
Shego brushed her hair back with her fingers and continued brushing it back. She didn't have any other ideas for how to protect the vampire she'd met who seemed to care so deeply for her. And during the day he was vulnerable even in his home, with no defense whatsoever against the sunlight, and no escape.
A new idea struck her.
"What if...when the woodsmen come, I lead them in here one at a time, and you kill them then? You'd get a meal with each one."
Drakken blinked at her. "You wouldn't mind being party to their deaths?"
Shego's eyes darkened. "They chop down our trees. Even the saplings. Just to burn their fires, or build houses, or make their heinous parchment paper."
She looked around the small house suddenly for anything out of place. There was the sideboard and the chair, as well as the frame of the bed and a trunk at the bed's foot. The door and window shutters were also made of wood, and there was some odd small item attached to the wall. But other than that the place was made of stone, and there was no fireplace. Drakken had very little wood in his home, compared to the acres the humans sometimes slaughtered. And she was relieved.
She also realized that the tiny house wasn't really much of a home... It was a place he slept during the day, protecting his life, while his real life happened outside at night, either finding a meal or tending his garden.
"Why do they hunt you?" Drakken asked.
Shego brought her focus back to him.
"They think...creatures like me are evil. Devil's spawn. But our only desire is to care for our trees!" she pleaded with passion, stepping nearer to him.
His eyes grew sad.
"I'll kill them for you," he said. "If...if I survive until tomorrow."
She suddenly felt a worry and fear in her heart different than any she'd ever felt before. It was a different feeling than she felt for the trees. And it had something to do with the warmth she'd felt earlier, when he was apologizing for his intent to murder her. That warmth was returning as she listened to him vow to help her kind, and in a twisting confusion it also made the fear stronger.
"Can I do anything?" she asked.
He bowed his head and shook it sadly. "Not unless...you can stop the sun from rising."
The sick feeling in her heart grew even as the warmth swirled through her. She certainly didn't have that kind of power. And she dearly loved the sun...
"I'll...I'll go back," she said.
His eyes snapped up to hers. "What?"
"I'll show myself to them," she explained as she pulled the chemise off again and dropped it back onto his bed. "I'll let them chase me. I'll lead them away from here."
Drakken's arms were suddenly gripping her shoulders. "No! No Shego, you can't! I couldn't bear it if...if you were hurt."
She grinned and gently pushed his hands away. "I've been hurt before," she said, gesturing to her scarred body.
He swallowed slowly as he looked her up and down, the purple color returning to his cheeks.
"You saved me," she said, stepping nearer to him. "Let me save you."
His eyes were pools of worry, but after a moment he gave a crisp nod. The warmth burned in her chest like fire again, but it didn't scare her quite as much this time. She didn't fully understand it...except she had an idea now what to do with it. She leaned up on her toes and lightly pressed her lips to his, as he had done to her before.
She heard his gasp and his sharp intake of breath through his nose for the brief moment the kiss lasted. When she stepped away from him, his eyes had regained the longing that she had seen in them before, when he thought he would be forced to kill her.
"Will you come back?" he asked desperately.
"After I've led them away," she said with a grin.
Drakken took an anxious breath. "Th-thank you...Shego," he said.
She smiled mischievously at him before disappearing through his door, closing it behind her and sending him back to the darkness he needed. Then she took her own anxious breath as she walked down his primrose-lined path.
She was still very, very tired. But Drakken had saved her life. She would gladly return the favor.
And...she wanted to see him again.
---------------------
Drakken struggled to sleep that day, and spent much of it pacing through the warm darkness of his house, worrying. It was horrible for his weakened state that he didn't rest, but he couldn't help himself for the fears that plagued him about the beautiful dryad he had fallen in love with.
What if Shego wasn't able to find the same mob? What if they didn't take the bait, and found the prospect of killing a vampire much more appealing than killing a dryad? Or worse, what if they did take the bait, and...she wasn't able to escape them?
As the daylight waned, it seemed she had been successful; no one had come calling, and he was safe to live another day of his three-thousand years. But it did nothing to relax his nerves, only putting him more on edge. Night couldn't come soon enough for Drakken, and as soon as the sun was gone from the sky he flung his door open and began watching for her.
An hour passed, and then another. He forgot all about tending his flowers as he paced anxiously, wringing his hands and waiting as he battled potential fainting spells due to his lack of sustenance.
Finally, he steeled his nerves and stepped outside, gathering his remaining strength for a shape-shift. He couldn't leave her to fate any longer.
He would need to choose the most inoffensive of creatures, but something that could travel fast on limited energy—an owl, he decided, for its stealth. It would tire him... But during his search for Shego, he could find a meal.
He gathered his strength and changed form, taking off in a leap as his feathered wings spread. And he flew low over the hills and beneath the scattered tree tops as he started toward the nearby town that was the most likely origin of the common enemy he and Shego shared.
As he tiredly flew beneath the starlit skies his sharp eyes searched the landscape, and his thoughts drifted again to the dryad's beauty. She surpassed any flower he had ever tended in his long and lonely years, even his delicate queen of the night with its flower that lasted only for one bloom. His sweet flowers had been his only companions for millennia, but now... A hope had risen within him of which he had never even dreamed.
If only she would consent to be his... He already felt he might die without her.
He felt his wings tiring far too soon, but he was nearing the edge of the remains of the forest that had concealed his home so faithfully for so long, and the valley with the town below. He forced himself to alertness as his sharp, avian eyes searched all across the sparse scenery.
He wasn't even sure what he was looking for. Now that it was night, would she be in her human form? Could she travel in her oaken form? Would he even recognize her if she had taken on the disguise?
His worrying thoughts were halted in agonizing force when suddenly, at the crest of the hill at the edge of the tree-line, he saw her—a familiar green form, collapsed on the ground; and standing above her holding an axe and torch, a woodsman.
Drakken's eyes took in the fresh wounds that had been laid into her flesh, jagged and deep. She was un-moving again, no more than a crumpled heap, and the thought that she might be dead caused a searing pain to erupt within his breast.
A rage darker than any he'd ever felt began to burn within him. His owl eyes glimpsed a mob on the periphery, carrying torches and weapons as they left the town and ascended the hill toward the forest. And then his acute avian hearing picked up the voice of the lone woodsman who would threaten his beloved.
The man was pacing, his haggard face furious as he stared down at her. "I don't care what they say, and I can't wait for them to get back. You're not so bad now, that you're chopped down to size. I...I won't wait for them to get back," the man said, and Drakken watched as an evil that could have been straight out of hell entered the man's eyes. "They won't let me have you. Well, I'll have you, you forest-witch! And then...then you'll be sorry you toyed with us."
Drakken watched the man toss his torch and axe aside. He turned Shego over to lay on her back, vulnerable and exposed. And then the man reached for his belt buckle.
Drakken folded his wings into a dive and his rage emerged from his beak in a piercing screech that caused the man to look up from his vile endeavor. His face contorted in fear as Drakken shifted before his eyes back into his familiar, vampiric form and landed skillfully on his human legs. The avian screech changed with his vocal cords into the shrillest, most terror-inducing shriek he had ever cried as he landed in front of the frantic man who didn't even have a chance to cry out before Drakken's fangs pierced his throat.
The man struggled, but Drakken had no qualms about beating him into submission even after the calm-inducing venom filled the man's veins and his writhing ceased. Drakken feasted with a dark pleasure he hadn't felt in years, driven by the jealous, protective love in his heart. No creature—man, beast, or fey—would ever defile the perfect beauty that was Shego as long as he had breath.
He lost himself in the sweet taste of the blood, the nourishment filling him, reviving him, and intoxicating him. It was only the distant voices of men and the approaching light of torches that startled him back into the present, and after one final lip-smacking slurp he turned distraught eyes to Shego.
She was un-moving, her wounds still fresh and bleeding out her thick, brown blood. With renewed strength, Drakken shifted into one of his most terrifying forms which had been inherited through his ancient bloodline—a magnificent dragon, with dark blue-gray scales like iron that no weapon formed by man could pierce. He delicately lifted Shego in his claws, and then as an afterthought, picked up the dead man and his axe with his other foot. He could finish his meal later; and the axe...he had a strange feeling he might need another weapon come the morning.
The terrified screams of the approaching mob might have thrilled him as his wings thundered during his take-off, but he was too worried for Shego to take any pleasure in their fear. In his haste to depart, one of his victim's legs slammed into the ground. Drakken grimaced as he watched the limb rip off at the knee and fall back to the ground. There was still so much blood he could have consumed in the half-leg. But, he had more pressing matters to attend to as he rose high in the sky.
The fear-stricken cries of the mob reached his ears again, and with a rising fury he turned and circled the town. It had been long since he had attacked, the routine of their sacrifices to him having become comfortable. It was time he reminded them of who he was.
He swooped low and let loose a roar that echoed far over the hills, and then the burning rage within him burst from his mouth in a plume of fire. He was careful to tuck Shego up against his scales before he set the town ablaze, knowing that even one spark could be dangerous to her true form. But with his other foot, he dragged his dead victim against the man-made cobbles of the street, further mutilating the body and delivering unquestionable evidence of his power and cruelty.
Leaving them with that reminder of his timeless presence, he finally turned and began his flight back over the scant forest, the flap of his powerful wings creating a sound like thunder through the valley.
His rage began calming as he looked at the now-unrecognizable human who had threatened his beloved. Vengeance against at least this one tormentor had been served. And then he looked at the still form of Shego in his claws and worry quickly overwhelmed his fury. He increased the speed of his flight.
He didn't know where else to go, but home. He had never bothered with the dryads before, preferring his reclusive life and his flowers. How did one save a wounded dryad? Would it be anything like the non-sentient flowers he had cared for, for so many centuries?
She still wore the linen bandages he'd tended her with the night before, he noticed, as he gazed on her fresh wounds. The wounds were numerous and deep, some overlapping the already-existing scars that couldn't begin to mar her perfect beauty. As her blood seeped down over his claws, thick and sticky, he realized it wasn't blood at all, but some kind of sap. She was more tree than human, he understood, despite her appearance, and he felt more confident in tending to her as such.
In his great and terrible form, the return to his home took mere minutes. He was careful that his footing would be sure before he shifted back to his most familiar shape, and as his human arms captured Shego in a protective embrace the human he had slain along with the axe fell down to the earth in the clearing beyond his house in an ungraceful, forgotten heap.
Drakken ran with all his strength, cradling Shego to him as he sprinted beneath his trellis and along his path of evening primrose to his lily pond. His chest heaved for lack of breath as he stepped several paces into the waters, not minding about his clothing as he knelt down and gently lay Shego into the shallow pool, her head and shoulders resting atop his knees so her human lungs could draw breath. A small cut was across her chin, and he licked his thumb and absently tried to wipe the blood away.
Water was what she had wanted before. Perhaps water could save her now. He removed the linen bandages from her arm and wet them, using them to wipe the smears of excess blood—sap—from around her deep wounds, being careful not to touch them. Trees healed on their own, from what he had seen, if they weren't too far gone.
As the minutes passed he became aware of the familiar, soothing fragrance of his garden. But it did nothing for him as he stared at the un-moving face of the beauty who had so entranced him, and had risked her life for his with no other cause than her own kindness.
He shakily set his fingers beneath her chin to feel for a pulse, wondering if a tree would even have a human pulse. She'd had human breath, the night before... But now she was utterly still.
Tears filled his eyes. He bent over her and pressed his cheek to hers as he began to sob, mourning the perfection he had found and lost in a mere a breath of his long, lonely life. How could he possibly go on? His three millennia of life seemed utterly meaningless now as lifted his head and gazed on her beautiful face, her dark eyelashes still standing out like coal on her pale green cheeks, and her plump lips like the darkest wine.
He placed a chaste kiss on her lips and then rested his cheek on hers again, embracing her as he cried. He vowed then not to move again unless she lived, for his life was nothing without her. If his dryad was lost, he would stay by her side until the sun rose and burned him to ash, ending his pitiful, lonely existence.
His cries gradually diminished into sniffles. And then he let his thoughts fade into nothing as he readied himself for the death that would come many hours later, at dawn. He lifted his head and cast his gaze over her beautiful form in the pond. He wanted the last thing he saw in his life be her.
And then—there was a slight rippling in the waters under the starlight. His lips parted in a gasp. Her eyelashes fluttered, and slowly lifted.
"Drakken?" she asked weakly. He stared in disbelief, a soft cry leaving his lips. Her green eyes were vibrant as she looked up at him. "It's all right now," she continued faintly.
"Oh...Shego!" he gasped, and then pressed his lips to hers. His heart soared as she returned the kiss, her touch soft and gentle as a breeze.
He shifted to sit more fully in the waters and drew her up into his lap, cradling her close. Her slender fingers loosely gripped the front of his shirt as he rocked her gently, too overcome for words.
"I led them away..." she said tiredly. "Far away from you, and my oak."
"Oh Shego..." he cried into her hair. "You're hurt... I shouldn't have let you go. My life isn't worth it!"
"Of course you are..." she said kindly. Her hand rose to caress his chin once before weakly falling down to her lap.
He gazed upon her face in awe and amazement.
"In one hundred years...I have never seen a human give even a passing glance to my kind, except in malice," she said. "But you... You have cared for me... Risked your life for me."
Drakken looked around at where they were, seated in the water under the his arbor of angel's trumpets.
"Is this helping you?" he asked.
She nodded. "Yes." He realized her alluring voice was already stronger.
He carefully stood up, holding her close to him, and then with his hands holding her elbows for balance he helped her to find her feet. Her form shifted before his eyes into an oak, her roots displacing his water lilies as all semblance of the beautiful woman she was became hidden beneath the guise of a tree.
He stepped back and watched her branches settle, a few dry and ripped leaves falling down to the pond's surface. And then he stepped forward and threw his arms around her trunk, embracing her tightly.
"Please live..." he pleaded softly through his tears. "I couldn't bear your loss. They won't come for you again, I promise. Not after what I've done to them."
"What did you do?" she asked through a sigh that sounded of relief.
"I...set their town on fire. As a dragon," he explained, releasing her and slowly stepping away, his damp cheek brushing against her rough bark. He saw the many gouges that went deep into her sapwood, and his eyes darkened again. "And I feasted on one of them."
He suddenly remembered the half-finished meal that he'd dropped in the clearing.
"Will you be all right here," he began, "if I finish my meal?"
"Yes," she answered, her silvery voice ringing from somewhere above in her leaves.
He nodded shakily, and then ran out to the clearing. If he wanted to gain any more nourishment from his victim, he would need to hurry. Old, dead blood was of no use to him. He needed it warm and fresh. And his strength was still diminished from lack of food, and the great effort he had made in rescuing Shego.
He located the mutilated body and hurriedly resumed his feast. It wasn't as sweet as it had been, but the human's blood was still health to his bones. He cast his eyes over to the dead man's axe that had fallen nearby, and inspiration struck... He would set it up alongside the corpse of the man, at the edge of the clearing as a warning. Any trespasser on his privacy was unwelcome, but the woodsmen would be the most unwelcome of all.
He felt secure in his resolution, and after sucking every last drop from his victim he licked the blood from his lips and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. It had been too many minutes... He hurried back to the house, and to Shego.
Relief swept him as he saw her still standing in the pond, her leaves seeming greener and her branches higher and sturdier.
"Are you all right?" he asked quickly as he reached her side, wiping his mouth once more for propriety's sake. Or would she like the look of her dead captor's blood on his lips?
"Yes," she said. He was surprised as she slowly shifted back to her human form. The new gashes in her flesh still oozed sap, but much of it seemed to be hardening over the wounds.
"Are you in pain?" he asked, taking a worried step toward her.
She nodded, her eyes sad. And yet she was still favoring him with her beautiful, gentle smile. Oh, she was perfect!
"I'll nullify my agreement with the towns," he said. "I won't accept their sacrifices. From now on...I feast on woodsmen, and woodsmen alone."
Her eyes were bright and verdant as she stared at him, her smile growing. She slowly stepped out of the pond with more strength than he thought she would have had, and then...she gave him a coy glance before she spun delightedly, dancing to a rhythm that only she could hear. The starlight reflected off her dark hair with its iridescent green and hidden red strands. A brief laugh of joy left her lips as she brought her feet to a stop next to his door, and she knelt to smell the blooms of his night orchid.
She glanced at him and her smile grew. "Your garden is singing," she said. "Do you hear it?"
The desire he had felt the night before rose in his chest, from when he'd first looked on the perfect beauty that had been senselessly tortured for an age. Everything within him wanted her, and his desire burst forth in an impassioned plea.
"Stay with me!" he begged, taking a step toward her. He couldn't even find it within himself to be embarrassed. He was desperate for her. To have that beautiful creature to gaze upon each night... "You can live here, in my garden. I would tend you faithfully!"
Her smile grew, and she rose to face him. "I tend myself," she said. Her gaze grew sympathetic. "And...I must tend my oak."
She stepped slowly toward him, and he averted his eyes from her womanly form. He knew his heart would break without her. But his resolve to avenge her was sure.
"I'll still feast on the woodsmen," he affirmed with a nod.
"Drakken..." she said, and his heart leapt at the sound of his name on her lips. He looked up, and even in his despair at the loss he knew he must endure, he still found joy in her smile. She spoke again. "I can tend my oak in the day."
His eyes widened. A soft gasp fell from his lips.
"And I can come to you in the night," she continued, her smile becoming mischievous. She reached her hands towards him, and he eagerly took them in his. She spun around again, this time bringing him ungracefully with her in her dance to his garden's song.
His heart soared... She would come back. Perhaps each night! Finally, when he talked there would be someone to answer, and not just the silence of his flowers. He would be happy for all of eternity—
He released her hands suddenly as a dread thought occurred to him.
"Shego..." he began. She stopped her dance and faced him with her happy smile. Oh, he loved her! "How...how long do your kind live?"
Her smile began to fade. "If we are not murdered... Most of us have a lifespan around two hundred years."
'Two hundred...' his mind echoed, as he remembered their conversation the day before. Her life was already more than half over.
"Some of us live longer... The oldest is nearly six-hundred. And I even heard legend of one oak that lived to be a thousand," she encouraged gently as she approached him.
He smiled in acknowledgement of her kindness, but he still knew that exceptions weren't the rule. He might have the bliss of her presence for the next hundred years of his life. But then she would be gone. And he would live forever.
"The day you die..." he said soberly, "I shall step into the sun."
She rushed forward and brought her rough hands to his cheeks, her bright eyes growing suddenly sad. He had never seen her eyes like that before.
"You can't!" she gasped desperately and shook her head. "The world deserves a kind being like you."
Boldly, he slipped his fingers beneath her jaw and slowly moved them back into her silken hair. He shook his head in awe of her.
"In my youth, I traveled the whole of the Earth...searching for anyone to be companion to a creature like me. I refused to limit my quest as I encountered being after being, for over a thousand years." His voice fell to just above a whisper. "But not even the other immortals...could soothe the ache in my soul."
He turned and cast his gaze over his precious garden that he had tended for so many centuries, blooming faithfully for him under the starlight. "I only ever found the flowers. But you," he turned back to her, "are the most perfect creature... After knowing your beauty, your kindness, your spirit..." He shook his head again in awe, and then his gaze fell in sadness. He let his hands drop to his sides. "I couldn't go on for all of eternity with only your memory. It would burn me as surely as the sun."
Shego took three steps away. He dared to look up at her, and the compassion in her eyes sent an ache through his chest. What torment he had bound himself to, in finally finding the creature who would complete him only to learn her life was little more than a vapor.
A light came to her eyes suddenly, and slowly the mischievous grin returned to her face and he couldn't help feeling curious despite the sadness that threatened him. She bit her lip and spun away once, and then hopped back to him. He was amazed by her strength, with the wounds that still oozed sap from her flesh.
"Would you like it..." she asked, her confidence briefly hidden under a very feminine shyness, "if I let my acorns fall here? Around your home?"
He blinked and straightened up. "Acorns?"
She nodded and her smile grew. "Yes. If you fertilize me, then my acorns will grow... And then someday, when I'm gone, you can have my daughters. And then my daughters' daughters, and their daughters... They can be with you every night, forever, so you won't have to be alone."
Her eyes had grown wild with excitement, and she retook his hands as she fairly danced on her toes in front of him.
"Fertilize...?" he asked, thinking of the rich soil he made sure to always plant his flowers in.
"Yes," she said, spinning away from him suddenly and hiding behind one of the arbor's pillars. He started as he heard her gasp in pain. When she peeked out at him playfully from behind the pillar, she was holding one of the deep wounds on her waist.
He blinked at her as she grinned, seeming to be expecting something. But he didn't know what. It didn't seem to perturb her as a moment later she lithely leaped out from behind the pillar, almost floating back to him across the path. She took his hands and swung them playfully. The shy feminine look came over her face again.
"We're always fertilized by human males, but...your kind must reproduce? Don't they?"
Drakken's head swam and he suddenly felt very hot under his collar. He focused his gaze on the trellis at the end of the path and cleared his throat. A moment passed, and he found himself holding his breath as he bravely looked down at her smiling face again.
"Your daughters?" he asked shakily, awestruck as he began to fully comprehend what she was suggesting.
"Yes. And you...you could help scatter my acorns far across your clearing! And my daughters' acorns! For each generation!" she said, growing more excited with each word and bouncing on her toes. Her eyes shone with the brightest green he had ever seen. And then suddenly her voice fell into a soft awe. "My oak's spirit...can cover the whole of the Earth, with your help... We...we could live forever..."
Her dancing ceased as tears of hope suddenly filled her eyes. Her small green hands held his blue ones tightly as she gazed up at him with her pure, joyful smile. He hadn't thought his perfect creature could be any more beautiful, but in that moment, with that smile meant only for him, she was. Red tears of happiness pooled in his eyes.
"I love you," he said, the words falling softly from his lips as he gazed at her.
"...Love me?" she asked. She suddenly appeared as awestruck as he felt.
He nodded as a flush came to his cheeks. He'd known it since he had first tended her, and it had grown in his heart every moment since.
"Yes... Love is...what you feel for your oak," he explained, just in case her kind didn't have the concept.
There was wonderment in her eyes as she gazed at him. "You feel that...for me?"
"Yes, Shego," he said, smiling kindly.
"I..." she began slowly, her gaze falling to where she held his hands up between them. The wonder in her eyes was growing. "I...love you, too. I would never let harm come to you."
"Nor I you," he said, agreeing without question. He understood that protection was deeply rooted in her understanding of love. And his for her was no different, as he knew he would defend her to his dying breath.
Her hands left his and uncertainly moved to rest on his shoulders. And then she stood on her tiptoes and pressed her lips to his in a soft kiss. He wanted to pull her to him, but he didn't dare touch her with so many open wounds on her body. But the gentleness of her lips was more than he could have ever hoped for, and he kissed her back with all the love in his heart.
When her lips left his and she settled down on her feet again, her fingers lightly pulling at the fabric of his shirt at the shoulders, the shy look ghosted over her face again.
"I hope...I can grow a hundred daughters for you," she said.
He watched her as she slowly stepped back, and then with the elegance of a blooming flower she was suddenly seated on the ground at his feet with her knees drawn up to her chest. She continued to smile as she slowly leaned back on her elbows, but her wince of pain did not escape his notice. She slid her feet forward soundlessly over the ground, her toes pointed, and then moved her knees far apart as she lay back comfortably in the cool grass that blanketed the ground of his evening garden.
She looked up at him calmly, and expectantly.
Two thoughts entered his mind simultaneously; the first, a wondering if it was even possible for a creature like him, an un-dead horror of the night, to mix with the perfect beauty that was the dryad to create viable offspring; and his second thought, a stomach-turning disgust at the idea of a terrible being such as himself defiling her perfection in the way she was asking of him, even if the purpose was pure.
"You're still hurt," was what softly left his lips as he couldn't help but gaze down at her offering.
She lifted one of her arms from the grass to look at the wounds there, but he was far more concerned with the deeper ones over her waist, legs, and back.
"How long will it take for you to heal?" he continued.
"I'll feel like myself again in a few days' time," she answered, "but the wounds will always hurt..." she said, her fingers sliding over the long, jagged scar left by a saw on her stomach and then resting her hand there.
He slowly knelt at her side, and then offered her a hand to sit up. She took it in confusion, and when she was sitting upright before him he gestured over the garden.
"Is there a place here, you would like for your roots? When you come in the evenings?"
She seemed to consider, gazing across the symmetry he had worked hard to attain in his garden, and then smiling she pointed to the far side of the lily pond that she had dipped her roots in before.
"There."
"May I till the soil for you?" he asked, smiling at the idea of her beauty adding to his garden each night. Though he knew with her presence, he would neglect his flowers as he already had that evening.
"That would be lovely," she said, looking back at him with a tender smile that strangely sent a flood of desire rushing through his cold, dead veins.
She must have seen it in him as she leaned back on her elbows again with a mischievous smile, but then paused as her face became concerned. He took her hand again in dismay, not wanting any worries or fears to ever cloud her perfect visage.
"I'm sorry..." she began, looking melancholy, "I should have asked... Do you want my daughters?"
A pain gripped his chest when he realized his actions could have conveyed rejection. The pain was followed immediately by the ache of the deep love he had for her. The offering of her children to keep him company for all eternity, and greater still, the offering for them to be their children, hers and his, was a gift that transcended every earthly definition of love. He desperately wanted it, with everything within him. And he would honor that love for the rest of time.
He softly squeezed her hand and then lifted her forearm to his lips, kissing one of her older scars. "Yes," he answered. "And...when you are gone..." he said, his heart thudding in agony at the thought, "I will tend your daughters...and your granddaughters, and their daughters...and as many as ever take root. And I will see that the spirit of your oak lives forever."
The love that filled her eyes took his breath away, and he, the one with the power to hypnotize all beings suddenly found himself entranced as she rose to her knees and slipped her arms around him in a gentle embrace. Her soft, wine-dark lips met his in a kiss that sent desire racing hot through his veins, and he kissed her back tenderly, afraid of what the force of his lust might do to her. Her fingers slid into his hair as she continued to kiss him with longing, her taste sultry and exotic like the scent of a gardenia, the caress of her dewy lips petal-soft. For the first time he let his hands roam freely over her womanly form, his fingertips tracing every scar and skipping carefully over the fresh wounds as he exulted in her soft curves, the roughness of her bark-like skin not deterring him for a moment.
He could have easily lost himself in her perfection and beauty, but the weakness with which she held him pressed against his mind. As deeply as his soul wanted her, he couldn't take any risk of further harming her.
A whimper escaped her lips as he pulled his own away, and he caressed her cheek and looked adoringly into her green eyes.
"You're still weak," he explained softly.
"I'm sturdy," she pouted, crossing her arms.
"I know," he said with a slight laugh, looking over her many scars. He leaned forward and placed a lingering kiss over the deep axe-scar on her breast. "But you are injured," he said when he pulled back. He could feel it in her trembling frame as he held her. "Rest, my love... Let me till your soil. Then later, when you have your strength back..."
He slowly, carefully released her and rose to his feet. She remained seated in the grass and looked up at him warmly. He wondered again if her kind and his could produce offspring at all. But she had said dryads were usually fertilized by humans... And his kind sometimes created offspring with humans as well. And he was of an ancient, pure bloodline. It seemed more and more possible as he thought about it. And oh, how he would joy if it were true!
He put on his gardener's gloves, discarded by his front door the night before, and picked up his spade. He crossed to the opposite side of the pond that she had indicated and began digging the soil to make it tender and ready to accept her roots.
He looked back at her and found she had lay down on her side along the shallow bank of the pond. Her cheek rested on one of her arms that was stretched out above her head, and with her other hand she drew a pink water lily to her and caressed its bloom. Her feet were dipped just beneath the water's surface, one of them moving back and forth and causing dark ripples to occur, revealed only by the starshine.
She gazed at him adoringly as he worked, and he smiled back at her. A peace he had never known filled him then as he imagined the barren hills someday being covered in a vast forest of oak. Even though he may only have her for a century, he knew the company of just one of her daughters that came after would be the greatest of joys. And to have hundreds of young, tender oaks to tend... Beneath whose shade he could plant more orchids...
He had the fleeting thought that instead of feasting on woodsmen, he should thank them for bringing her to his door. But the thought vanished as his eyes fell on her scars and wounds again. No, all woodsmen would die, their blood sustaining him and thus Shego's daughters as they would give him the nightly strength to tend the young oaks—an ironic and delicious twist of fate.
Drakken licked his lips in anticipation of the vengeance he would wage for eternity against the kind that dared harm the perfect beauty of the dryad, and he grinned wickedly as he continued to turn the soil with his spade.
A soft laugh from near the pond arrested his attention, and he turned his eyes to where Shego was smiling her mischievous smile. He leaned on his spade and gestured down to the loose ground at his feet.
"Is this all right, to start? Should I till it each night before you return?"
Shego rose, minding her wounds, and stepped over into the freshly-turned earth. He watched as she shifted gracefully into her oaken form, some of her roots pressing deep into the earth while others still dipped into the edge of the pond.
"It's perfect," she said.
Joy rippled through him, and he embraced her trunk and kissed her rough bark. So enraptured was he that he almost didn't notice when she slowly shifted back to her human form, his arms falling comfortably around her. Her arms encircled him and she looked lovingly up into his face, and elation filled him as he returned her gaze. He was finally, perfectly...impossibly happy.
---------------------
Epilogue
In fertile valleys beneath densely forested hills lay the ruins of many towns, all burned to ash. Signs were posted on the ancient roads, warning travelers to beware and to turn back. But in the valley beneath the highest hill, one small town remained. It was the dread of all the Earth, for in that town lived the people of the Cult of Drakken.
The people of the cult roamed far throughout the world, capturing woodsmen without explanation and with no provocation. All who were captured were taken back to the dread town and never seen again.
The few who had been brave enough to visit the cult and lucky enough to escape came back with tales of the shape-shifting vampire of the oaks, who detested all woodsmen and demanded weekly sacrifices. It was the sacrifices of the cult that stayed the entity's wrath, and kept more towns from burning. This was the ritual that had gone on for nearly two millennia, making enemies of the people of the cult and all other men on the Earth.
The sacrifices were always carried by two elect members of the cult over the hills through their immense, dense forests of oak to the edge of a clearing on the shallow slope of the highest hill. At dusk the elect would bind the sacrifice of a live woodsman to the trunk of a manzanita tree in the clearing, and then they would hide behind a straight row of massive ash trees to be sure their sacrifice was received. If it wasn't, then one of the two elect would be given up in the woodsman's place.
They would watch the timeless ritual, listening to the last screams of the woodsmen before they were devoured by the vampire that was the cult's namesake, terrified and at the same time put at peace, knowing their weekly task had been completed. They saw their role as one of honor, saving far more people of the world than were being sacrificed. And sometimes the very bravest would remain, to watch the strange vampire who tended the orchids and the oaks, and who lived in a place of beauty that contrasted his dark demands.
For in the clearing where the sacrifices were made stood an ancient stone house with a sod roof, its walls decorated with climbing vines of moonflower. Natural arbors of angel's trumpet overhung two lily ponds in an expertly-cultivated symmetrical garden of night flowers in front of the house—symmetrical, but for one stark feature.
At the far side of one lily pond rose a single tree, taller than the house and standing out on the hill despite the dense forest that blanketed its every slope. But this tree stood out for another reason besides the marring of the symmetry of the garden. It bore scars innumerable from axes and saws that must have been taken to it for nearly a hundred years. And still in even greater contrast, the beautiful garden of flowers was alive and vibrant; the lone oak was dead.
The brave members of the cult would watch in awe and confusion as after the vampire feasted at dusk, he would go far into the forest to tend the youngest oaks, often shape-shifting into an owl to speed his travels. Then he would return to his home and tend the flower garden with a care and gentleness that defied the fury with which he always devoured the woodsmen.
And then as his final act, he would spend the last hour of each night seated at the base of the dead oak next to the lily pond until the danger of the dawn when sunlight would illuminate the treetops of the forested hill.
This was the strangest of the vampire's acts, for he never merely sat at the base of the lone oak. He embraced it, and cried his tears of blood into its dead heartwood. And then at the last possible moment, when the danger of the sun grew too great, he would kiss the oak's trunk once and then vanish within his stone house to rest for the day.
The cult members would leave in bewilderment, but never-minding about whatever motivated the vampire. They would continue to sacrifice, and live. And he would continue his nightly ritual of feeding, tending the flowers, and embracing the dead oak, for all eternity.
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demondetoxmanual · 6 years
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Jensen Ackles at his Family Business Brewery in Texas
Supernatural star Jensen Ackles and his family recently opened Family Business Brewing Co., outside of Austin, Texas. The brewery features a constantly changing variety of beers, ales, lagers, session IPAs, and barrel-aged stouts.
During breaks from shooting his long-running CW television show in Vancouver, alongside co-star and fellow Austin resident Jared Padalecki, he’s been extremely hands-on throughout the process. Whether he is hanging lights or helping with the design of the brewery or happily testing all of the beers, Ackles and his family have put blood, sweat, and tears into creating a spectacular 15-acre destination brewery in Dripping Springs, Texas.
Ackles owns Family Business Brewing Co. with his wife, Danneel and brother-in-law Gino Graul, and has created an amazing destination featuring not only a tantalizing mix of brews but also a stage for live music and a Southern-style food truck called Jep's Southern Roots operated by “Duck Dynasty” stars Jep and Jessica Robertson.
Jensen was born and raised north of Dallas and is a native third generation Texan. His wife Danneel was born in Louisiana. They both met in Los Angeles and ultimately moved to Austin in 2014.
I sat down with Jensen and Danneel to chat about their new venture and how they are keeping it all in the family.
What made you move to Texas?
“After my show was going for a while and we were living in L.A. we had our first child (Justice Jay)” says Jensen. “We had a heart to heart on where we wanted to raise our family, and we didn't have to be in California because I was shooting in Vancouver and I could commute pretty much anywhere. That opened up the idea of living in a different city, and then we started thinking about what cities would fit us and who we are, and Austin pretty much topped the list because it also brought our families closer to us.”
After settling in Austin for a few years, the couple had twins (Zeppelin and Arrow) in December of 2016.  With Jensen’s family only 3 1/2 hours away in Dallas north and Danneel’s family five hours away in Louisiana, they felt at home in the perfect location.
How did the idea come about to start a brewery?
“The brewery started when Danneel's brother Gino moved out to California where we were living before our kids came along.” Jensen says, “After leaving the Navy, we put him up so that he could come out to California and finish school. He lived in our guest house which was great for me, because while I was away filming I had an ex-Navy brother in law living at my house protecting my family for me. It was a win-win.”
"Cut to seven years ago, a buddy of mine ("This is Us" actor Justin Hartley) was looking to store his small pilot brew systems somewhere while he moved," he adds. "We ended up storing it in a shed in our backyard and left it there for almost a year. Finally, Gino and I decided to fire the thing up and see if we could make beer since the whole craft beer industry was really growing in Southern California."
“I was adamantly against it in the beginning. I thought they were going to blow up our house,” interjects Danneel.
“Gino and I started making batches of beer in the backyard on the weekends, and just kind of really fell in love with it. We lived in Malibu and even put some of our tap at local bars. Gino ended up graduating school from Santa Monica College and then went to UC Davis taking a brewers course, and finally in Chicago where he studied at the Siebel Institute, a fantastic brewing school. That investment of his time and our investment of enjoyment into the whole craft brewery scene really started to flourish," says Jensen.
'The idea of moving to Austin came up, and we thought it would be really cool to have a little brewery that was self-sustainable and kind of a passion project." adds Jensen. "We went down to Austin to check out the craft brewing scene, and it was the right location for starting something since the market was really starting to take off. There were only a few breweries, and they were really starting to see a market increase. We all decided to move the business to Austin and then shopped around for a spot to set up shop."
"We ended up buying some land just outside of town and building from the ground up," says Danneel.  "It was a little bit more of an investment as opposed to renting a place, but we decided to just kind of go all in from the beginning. Everything that has happened so far with the brewery has been very organic, and while we were looking around for places, my Uncle (who had 365 acres out in Dripping Springs), called and said the little ranch next to him with 15 acres was going up for sale. We went out there, and it was absolutely perfect, and we bought it immediately. Then our whole concept started to evolve and change, and that’s how we ended up with the destination brewery. All we originally wanted was a little tiny spot" says Danneel.
How did you come up with the name of the brewery?
"The name Family Business is a bit of a nod to the "Supernatural" fanbase because there is a famous saying on our shows, with hunting ghosts we call ourselves the family business," says Jensen.
Are you both hands on with the daily operations?
"Gino is really the boots on the ground, and he's the day to day guy, while Danneel's out there multiple times per week dealing with things. When I am in town, I visit the employees to make sure they're encouraged and know they are doing a good job. So it certainly is a family business, and we all take it very seriously, but we're all enjoying it" says Jensen.
"I have the best gig as one of the head taste testers, which is one of the reasons we started doing it in the first place because we really do enjoy the beer" he adds, "But the process is super fun and I have been able to brew multiple times with Nate Seale, our Head Brewer. The process itself is lengthy, but it's really enjoyable. Nate is like a mad scientist with the things that he creates and the ideas he comes up with. It's really fun to just kind of sit back and watch him go and lend a hand whenever he needs it."
What is your current output at the brewery?
"We are brewing at least two to three times a week," says Jensen," "We're running a 15 barrel system, and we'll do double batches into our 30 barrel fermenters. We have three 30 barrel fermenters and two 15 barrel fermenters."
Tasting room at Family Business
Will this be in bars and stores?
"We are trying to keep it all in-house, so all of the beers are out on the property," says Danneel. "It is not beneficial to us to distribute, and we do better selling ourselves. We are also very mindful of what our brand is, and we will never be a beer that is served up and down 6th Street in Austin."
"We have quite a good name for ourselves as far as the brewer industry goes with Nate," adds Jensen, "He started at 512 Brewing Company, and he has a great name. He's really kind of elevated the quality and put us in the game as far as being a high-quality craft brewery."
Who is your customer?
"We get a lot of locals out there that live in Hill country and Lakeway, they're a fixture there, and it feels more local. I'm sure there are fans of the show that might make a little pilgrimage out there to see the brewery," says Jensen. "We have a 10,000 square foot red barn looking building, and the majority of it is the production side. We have a fairly big tasting room that opens out to an oak grove with a giant 15-foot wide wrap around porch. It's a nice open indoor-outdoor space for visitors."
What are you brewing?
"We've got brewery tours, and we generally have about 10 to 12 different styles of beer on tap," says Jensen. "We kind of let Nate go nuts. He wants to keep creating, keep innovating and trying new things by rotating tap and different kinds of beer. It's more expensive as far as materials go, but it's a great thing when people come back and enjoy the space. They won't have the same four beers lined up that they had before."
"We will always have a new beer to try on tap" he adds. "There might be three or four seasonal beers. Right now we've got a Kolsch and an IPL that's coming down the pipe that we've never had before. Nate certainly caters to the time of year. When we opened in January, we had winter warmers and some Stout's as well as really nice winter ales, and now he's moving more into spring/summer style here."
Jared Padalecki and Jensen Ackles at the brewery
"The very first beer that we wanted to serve since the beginning was our pale ale," says Jensen. "We call it the Hamilton Pale Ale based on the nearby natural Hamilton Pool. We've got a series of IPA's that are not incredibly hoppy. We also offer a new England style IPA which is a softer bitter, and we have a white IPA and a black IPA which is really interesting."
"The ESB we have is one of my favorites, but I'm not much of an English Ale fan," says Jensen, "We've taken an English style ale and put a North American twist on it, and it's fantastic. We've got a great brown ale, but the one that gets talked about the most is our Imperial Stout. Nate knows how to make his dark beers taste amazing. We are serving the Imperial Stout as is, but we also started a barrel aging program and put the stout into whiskey barrels, and that's maturing right now, so hopefully, that will be ready after a three-six month age."
Any of your celebrity friends come to visit?
"Jared Padalecki also lives in Austin, and we do “Supernatural” together," says Jensen. "He was out there during the build out and helping us put in the walk-in cooler and tearing down some barn structures and sheds and stuff to pour concrete. Jared was friends with Jep and Jess Robertson, and they were fans of our show. They eventually came up to Vancouver and visited the set, and are really easy to get along with. Jep is an amazing cook, and they were talking about doing a food truck in Austin. They’re from Louisiana, and Danneel and Gino are from there. Now they have a food truck at the brewery. So we get really good Louisiana food to go with our Texas beer."
What's on the horizon?
"There is a beautiful old ranch house on the property that we want to convert that into a restaurant," says Danneel. "It's a beautiful old Texas style house we think will become a great restaurant." The couple is also considering adding accommodations in the future for overnight experiences.
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locitarose · 6 years
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Ooooooo! Supernatural Rogue Canary in a Historical setting, please and thank you (if you're up for it!!)!!
I didn’t quite manage the historical aspect in the usual way - though it’s definitely implied how long ago this is set so I hope you like it anyway. I also played with mythology with this one. Translations will be at the bottom.
           The village of Thaymore was burning.
           Mick looked over the various firesthat were consuming the village and nodded to himself as he made his decision.
           It was time to get the hell out ofhere.
           Mick knew he could travel faster ifhe transformed but he wanted to stay under the radar while he traveled whichmeant he’d be going by foot and, usually, at night.
           Being a dragon meant he could seejust fine in the dark after all.
           He glanced back in the direction he’dcome and thought about the village he’d left behind a few weeks ago. For once,he hadn’t been the one to start the fire but there were a number of people whohad a grudge against some of the town leaders and also knew he was a dragon.
           Clearly they’d decided to takeadvantage of that. After all, who would look twice at one of the town’s belovedresidents when there was a dragon who could be blamed for it? Especially sincehe hadn’t gone out of his way to make friends.
           He shook his head and turned tocontinue only to stop at the sight of the man in front of him.
           Well, Mick realized with a tilt ofhis head, not a human man at least.
           “What, exactly,” he drawled, narrowinghis eyes and crossing his arms, “is a dragon doing up here?”
           “What makes you think I’m a dragon?”Mick asked.
           A sharp grin appeared on thestranger’s face. “I’m insightful.”
           Mick narrowed his eyes. “Who areyou?”
           “You can call me Cold,” he said.
           “Your name is Cold?” Mick asked,disbelief clear in his voice.
           “I never said that.” Cold’s armsdropped to his sides and he smirked. “I said it was what you can call me.”
           And suddenly it came to him. “You’re oneof the Fae. Unseelie, I’m guessing.” Unseelie were usually associated withwinter and with a name like Cold, not to mention his personality, Mick would putgold on Cold being one of the Unseelie.
           Cold’s smirk slid in to a sly smile.“Hmmm. Once upon a time maybe. I’m more Solitary now.”
           A Solitary Fae. That was just Mick’sluck. They were some of the most unpredictable and add in that he started outUnseelie…hell. Still, the Fae were not known for just giving informationaway. “Why tell me?”
           “To get an answer to my question ofcourse.”
           “You haven’t asked me a question,”Mick pointed out.
           Cold’s eyes narrowed again. “Igreeted you with a question, dragon.Answer it.”
           Mick huffed out an annoyed breath,smoke appearing with that exhalation. “I ran in to trouble a few weeks ago.Thaymore. A few people set a fire and set me up for it. I’m just looking for aplace away from humans so I can settle.” Mick would love to tell Cold what hecould do with his demand for answers but telling him was definitely the saferoption. One didn’t anger the Fae if they could avoid it and Cold was already unhappywith his presence here.
           “Is that so? Then why don’t you movealong and find somewhere else,” Cold told him. “This place is off limits.”
           “That so?”
           “It is.” Cold took a step towardshim. “I imagine you thought that cave further up would be perfect. There’s ariver nearby and plenty of trees. But anyone who could bring trouble with themisn’t allowed anywhere near here. So you can move along, dragon.”
           Mick shifted and looked passed Cold,taking in the trees beyond him. The sun had begun to rise and with it came aclearer view of the grove that shouldn’t even exist so far up this mountain andso near a cave.
           He was protecting something. Even asMick came to that realization, something moved within the trees.
           Leonard saw the realization in thedragon’s eyes even as he sensed movement behind him and fought the urge to swear.He’d been able to sense that the sun was coming up and he’d known that meantSara would be waking soon so he’d pushed too hard and too fast and now thedragon knew he was protecting something. Someone.
           He had been Unseelie. He mostly still was—he liked going aftertravelers and messing with humans and pranking them. He liked lying to them andwatching them try to puzzle out what was real and what wasn’t. Occasionally, heliked hurting them when he sensed they’d be dangerous to Sara and the grove.
           He’d come to care for Sara when he’dmet the hamadryad over two centuries ago. She wasn’t quite as shy as hersisters and she’d boldly ventured out of her tree to meet him. It had intriguedhim and a friendship had blossomed between the two, slowly shifting to morethan that in the last 75 years. They’d already begun courting each other, muchto the amusement of many, when a few mortals had set fire to the grove whereshe and her sisters lived nearly 30 years ago.
           It had taken most of his magic totransport Sara’s tree away from there without damaging it in any way and createthis grove for her. By the time he had his strength back, most of her sisterswere dead. A few had somehow survived but they hadn’t wanted to leave wherethey were to join Sara in the new grove that Leonard had created. And as muchas Sara loved her sisters, she’d chosen to stay here, in the grove of oak treesLeonard had nearly died creating for her.
           The Unseelie Court had been furiousat his interference because while hamadryads were considered fae, they werealso left alone because they tended to fall under the purview of the gods andgoddesses (Artemis especially) and when he’d threatened anyone who tried toharm Sara—then followed through on said threat when someone had been stupidenough to actually try—he’d been kicked out of the Court. A Solitary Faebecause while he loved being part of the Unholy Court, he loved Sara more. TheSeelie Court had found it touching and had given him aid a few times when he’dbeen in need and suddenly Leonard was one of the few Fae with contacts in bothCourts (because banished or not, Lisa still loved him and liked to sneak awayto visit whenever she could).
           Now a dragon had found them. Adragon with fire in his veins who had already showed signs of the fire thatcould destroy Sara if he lost his temper. Leonard wouldn’t have it.
           He should have thrown the damndragon down the mountain.
           Toned and freckled arms wrappedaround his waist from behind and he let out a breath, his hand going to Sara’swhen the dragon focused on her arms in surprise. Clearly she’d managed to sneakup behind him without letting the dragon see her.
           “Χρυσή μου,” he said,squeezing her hand. He turned his head to look at her over his shoulder andallowed his eyes to soften since the dragon couldn’t see it.
           She squeezed back. “Ζωή μου,”Sara said quietly. Her gaze ticked towards the dragon and back. “He needs aid?”
           Leonard fought to keep his stancerelaxed. Sara was bolder than any other hamadryad he’d ever met and she lovedsparring as much as she did singing and dancing but she also had one of thebiggest hearts he’d ever known. She’d hear his story and want to help.
           Rather than groan, he let out a lowsigh. “The dragon is looking for a place to settle,” he told her, turning backto glare at said dragon.
           Sara leaned further to the side sothat she could see around him and raised an eyebrow at the dragon. “Why?”
           The dragon looked from Leonard toSara. “Got framed for setting a village on fire a few weeks ago. I left beforethey could make a move against me. Figured I’d settle away from humans.” Henodded towards the cave. “Found out about the cave up there a few days ago andthought I’d settle there.”
           Sara considered him for a moment. “Areyou the type of dragon that goes around setting fire to things when you getangry?” she asked.
           Leonard looked down at her. “Pleasetell me you’re not considering this,” he said.
           “Humans are dangerous. How could wedeny him sanctuary?” she asked.
           “Easily.” Leonard looked back at thedragon. “We don’t like fire around here. You can leave now.” He looked back atSara. “See?”
           “Cold,” she said, using the namethat he gave strangers. “We can at least offer temporary shelter.” Sara lookedback at the dragon. “You never told me what type of dragon you are.”
           The dragon gave her the first genuinesmile Leonard had seen since he arrived and he fought back a curse at thestirring of interest the expression caused. Sara tightened her arms around himand he felt her shake slightly with silent laughter though she managed to keepher expression serious.
           His nymph knew him well, damn it.
           “I’m the type of dragon that issimply looking for a place to keep his hoard. I only set fire to those thatcome after me.” The dragon bowed his head at her. “I would not harm you or yourtree.”
           Leonard looked down at Sara andraised an eyebrow. The dragon had figured out what she was it seemed and thatmeant that Leonard would be keeping an eye on him. But he had created the grovefor Sara and if she allowed the dragon to stay, then Leonard wouldn’t object.
           “You may use the cave,” Sara saidafter a few moments. Leonard’s lips quirked as he resigned himself to onlyhearing his name from Sara’s lips when the dragon wasn’t around to hear it. Offhis look, she moved so that the dragon could only see her arms and kissedLeonard’s shoulder. “Trust me,” she whispered. “I have a feeling about thisone, ζωή μου.”
           At that, Leonard relaxed. He was theone that could sense when something was going to go badly but Sara had alwaysbeen able to sense when something would be to their advantage.
           “Very well,” he said loudly enoughfor the dragon to hear. He looked back at the dragon. “But know this. If I seeso much as a spark near her or any of the trees, I will rip your head off andkick it down the mountain.”
           The dragon’s smile widened at thethreat. “Understood.”
           “Leonard,” Mick growled, his eyeslighting up as he stared down the path. “Humans are nearing.”
           Leonard’s eyes snapped towards thepath that would lead the humans to the grove and narrowed. “Well then, let’sgo greet them, Mick.” It had been 150 years since Mick had shown up, lookingfor a place to settle down away from the danger that humans presented andLeonard had long ago lost any reservations about the dragon who had become hisand Sara’s third.
           Sara had, as usual when it came tothings like this, been right.
           Sara pressed up against Leonard’sback and reached out to pull Mick against them. “Don’t be too long, μάτια μου.I have plans for the two of you,” she told Mick with a smile that had himwishing humans couldn’t even see their mountain, let alone walk the path to thegrove.
           “Best not to keep her waiting, αστέριμου,” Leonard said, using the name for Mick he’d chosen because, assappy as it was admit out loud, Mick burned so brightly. It was rare that heactually used the term of endearment but when he did, it promised to be a verygood night for Mick and Sara both. Leonard’s eyes glittered at the prospect ofmischief and he turned towards Sara, pressing a kiss to her neck then hermouth, humming in satisfaction when her hands slid up his chest. “You sure youdon’t want to come with us, χρυσή μου?”
           Sara shook her head. “Not today.”She looked towards the golden trinkets that Mick had added to his hoardrecently. “I’m going to explore.”
           Leonard and Mick exchanged an amusedlook. They had no doubt that they’d come back to find her decked out in gold orjewels and nothing else. She liked their reactions whenever she did that.
           Mick pulled her close for a kiss ofhis own before he and Leonard stood and headed out of the cave, leaving behindtheir tree nymph.
           He smirked when Leonard merelytouched his arm and transported them to the middle of the path, blocking thehumans in a way similar to the way he’d simply appeared before Mick all thoseyears ago.
           “Well,” Leonard drawled, “you seemto be a little lost.”
           The man in the lead scowled. “We’renot lost. We’re following the path,” he said in a tone that clearly calledLeonard’s intelligence in to question.
           “You’re in my territory, mortal,”Leonard replied. “Which means you’re lost. Unless you meant to come here andthen I can only assume you’re stupid.”
           Mick laughed and offered a smilethat promised plenty of pain when the group turned to look at him.
           Coming to this mountain had been thebest decision he’d ever made. He glanced at Leonard and thought of Sara back inthe cave.
           It had led him to his greatesttreasure after all.
Translations (all are Greek terms of endearment and found through people who live(d) in Greece and a linguist so blame them if these are wrong) :
Χρυσή μου / χρυσή μου: the feminine version of “my golden one”
Ζωή μου / ζωή μου: my life
μάτια μου: my eyes
αστέρι μου: my star
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The Reclaimed Individuality
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A/N: Ahh, this is a serving of another character study, featuring Grace Choi. Slightly sad that we didn’t get more clues about who she was before BL started. Never read the comics, however, I have a little info about it. Really sad of a lot of things about this show. Not that I’m gonna start being salty, lmaooo. Anyway, just me exploring Grace’s story because she’s an amazing character who deserved more screen time.
Word Count: 577
TW: Reference to canon past non-c0n, nothing too graphic though
***
Throughout in darkness of the woods, a leopard dashed towards a grove of towering trees. She leaped over an obstacle on her path, maintaining a rate of her speed as she ran far as she could without stopping.
Adrenaline burned through her veins with her chest at a terror reigning over her.
Upon stopping on her tracks, her fur shed off to provide way for human flesh. She pressed a hand over her chest, inhaling a deep breath. She stayed hidden beneath an oak tree with leaves hanging above her head. A scent of copper wafted around.
The fact that she still got out from the sight of her captors could surprise her. She had been meaning to escape from them and actually to do so. If she hadn't shifted as if she had, who knew what could have happened to her?
Whenever her shifting got out of control, they had often beat the hell out of her. They had believed it might be a method to revert human again. To force her to do their bidding. Their cruel hands and scathing words left a bruise on her body, heart, and soul. She was good to be treated as a thing for others to use. To be like a docile rag doll.
After getting abducted by those foul people, they had used her body as a means to earn income. Often making her comply by force, leaving her with no choice. They had stolen a part of her childhood and she couldn't get it back.
And while she had discovered a way to leave, she didn't find true freedom yet.
She wasn't hunted nor attacked. She might not where she was, at least it might be better than staying trapped in there.
Anything better than those beatings from her captors or insults would be good right now. It would do her some good, really.
With her clothes in tatters, she found an empty spot to sit down. She wiped bruises on her arms, that blood on her chest. She flexed her fingers as her muscles quivered.
What did she even did to deserve this shit to happen to her? Just because she had managed to survive a horrific ordeal, it didn't mean that it should have happened to her. Sure, she might sound as if she complained, however, it didn't make those feelings go away in an instant.
No one deserved to have this type of treatment inflicted on them.
Anger boiled down to misery and she lowered her head, squeezing her eyes shut. Tears slipped down her cheeks and she didn't protest. She didn't to let it all out.
Maybe when she learned to gain control of her abilities, she wouldn't have to run away. For once, she could have a place to stay in. To not worry about shadows of her past catching up to her. Just this once, maybe. . . maybe she wouldn't worry about getting hunted down by some organization, who could experiment on her. People like her wouldn't be accepted.
She might be lost now yet she could figure out how to change it.
So, she would start anew here in Freeland. With a new name, a new identity, and everything to conceal the truth of her past.
Grace switched into her leopard form, rushing towards a direction of a chance for a different life.
She could have anything better than this. She needed to also look out for herself in that search.
***
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thuthu220100 · 3 years
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Serious bakers know the importance of good butter. Butter is what makes pie crusts so flaky, what makes homemade biscuits sing and shortbread cookies melt in your mouth. If you’re a baker that wants to level up these buttery recipes, you might want to skip your go-to brand and opt for another option: cultured butter.
Unfamiliar with cultured butter? No worries. We’ll answer all your questions, like what is cultured butter? and why is it so darn good?
How Is Cultured Butter Different from Traditional Butter?
The everyday butter you reach for at the supermarket is made from a pretty simple recipe; it’s just fresh cream that’s been churned and churned until it forms solid butter. That’s it (unless you prefer salted butter, then it’s cream and a touch of salt).
Cultured butter, however, follows a slightly different process. To make cultured butter, bacterial cultures are added to pasteurized cream. This cream is left to ferment. During that time it thickens and, according to Adeline Druart, President of Vermont Creamery, “develops wonderfully tangy flavor notes.”
Fermentation times vary, but Adeline has this to say: “Making cultured butter is much like making wine: you want to ferment your cream like grapes, slowly, to produce the best aromas. The longer you culture, the better.” At Vermont Creamery, the cream rests for 20 hours before being churned.
What Does Cultured Butter Taste Like?
Culturing the cream definitely affects how this type of butter tastes. In the words of Taste of Home’s Prep Kitchen Manager and pro baker Catherine Ward, “cultured butter is so extra!”
Essentially, cultured butter has a more pronounced butter flavor. It’s creamier than traditional butter with just a slight tang from the cultures—the same way you can detect a bit of tanginess in buttermilk or yogurt. If you opt for salted cultured butter, that flavor will be even more noticeable.
To put it simply, if you enjoy using butter in your bakes, you’ll enjoy the flavor of cultured butter.
When Should You Use Cultured Butter?
You can use cultured butter in any dish that calls for butter—no need for any conversions or alterations to your recipe.
While you can use cultured butter in any recipe, it really shines in baking. According to Deputy Editor James Schend, “it will only make things better.” Not only will the flavor come through in your bakes, but James also explains that this butter’s slight acidity can produce more tender bakes.
This being said, cultured butter is more expensive than your regular box of butter. You’ll likely want to use it in recipes where the butter really stands out. James recommends using cultured butter to make biscuits, pancakes, shortbread or pound cake. In these recipes, you’ll really notice the extra flavor that cultured butter provides.
Where Can You Buy Cultured Butter?
You can find cultured butter in most grocers’ dairy cases alongside other butter options. Most supermarkets are carrying this unique type of butter these days. If you can’t find it at your go-to store, check out Vermont Creamery’s butter finder. You’ll find a location near you selling their cultured butter so you can try it yourself.
Make These Recipes That Are Better with Butter
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Gooey Butter Cake
A friend gave me a quick version of this gooey butter cake recipe using a cake mix, but I prefer baking from scratch, so I made my own version. My family can't get enough! The middle will sink a little; this is normal. This dessert is delicious served warm or cold. —Cheri Foster, Vail, Arizona
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Wisconsin Butter-Basted Burgers
It’s no secret that Wisconsinites love their dairy—so much that they sometimes top their burgers with a generous pat of butter. My recipe is a lot like the butter burgers you’ll find in popular restaurants all over the state. —Becky Carver, North Royalton, Ohio —Becky Carver, North Royalton, Ohio
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Herb-Buttered Baby Carrots
The herb butter can be used for everything from vegetables to roast chicken, turkey, game hens—let your imagination be your guide.—Sandra Corey, Caldwell, Idaho
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Dreamy Polenta
I grew up eating polenta, so it’s a must at my holiday gatherings. Traditional recipes require constant stirring, but using my handy slow cooker allows me to turn my attention to the lineup of other foods on my spread. —Ann Voccola, Milford, Connecticut
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Layered Yellow Cake with Chocolate Buttercream
This yellow cake will become your go-to recipe for birthdays, but the tender cake with flavorful chocolate buttercream is truly perfect for any occasion. —Taste of Home Test Kitchen, Milwaukee, Wisconsin
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Lemon Popovers with Pecan Honey Butter
My mom passed this recipe down to me many years ago. We love the delicate lemon flavor with the pecan honey butter. The popovers are a nice addition to any dinner, but they're especially delicious at breakfast with a bowl of fruit and yogurt. —Joan Hallford, North Richland Hills, Texas
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Buttery Herb Roasted Chicken
Roasting chicken is always such a comforting thing, especially when you can pick the herbs right from your garden and pair them with some fresh citrus to smear across the bird! My family can't get enough of this herb-roasted chicken recipe. —Jenn Tidwell, Fair Oaks, California
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Easy Biscuits
Whip up this buttery, easy biscuit recipe to serve with breakfast or dinner. The dough is very simple to work with, so there's no need to roll with a rolling pin; just pat to the right thickness. — Taste of Home Test Kitchen
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Blue-Ribbon Butter Cake
I found this buttercake recipe in an old cookbook I bought at a garage sale and couldn’t wait to try it. I knew it had been someone’s favorite because of the well-worn page. —Joan Gertz, Palmetto, Florida
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Homemade Pierogi
Pierogi, dumplings stuffed with a filling, make for a wonderful change-of-pace side dish. —Diane Gawrys, Manchester, Tennessee
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Sauteed Tarragon Radishes
Who says radishes only belong in salads? These sautéed radishes are cooked in wine and tarragon, and may just change the way you look at radishes forever. These can be served on their own, or added to your favorite au gratin recipe. —Taste of Home Test Kitchen
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Oma’s Apfelkuchen (Grandma’s Apple Cake)
My husband’s German family calls this Oma’s apfelkuchen, which translates to "Grandma’s apple cake." They’ve been sharing the recipe for more than 150 years. I use Granny Smith apples, but any variety works. —Amy Kirchen, Loveland, Ohio
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Grilled Veggies with Caper Butter
We enjoy the tart, peppery taste of capers. No one likes a bland veggie, and caper butter helps peppers, squash and zucchini shine. —Danyelle Crum, Indian Trail, North Carolina
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Aunt Rose's Fantastic Butter Toffee
I don't live in the country, but I love everything about it—especially good old-fashioned home cooking! Every year, you'll find me at our county fair, entering a different contest. This easy toffee recipe is a family favorite. —Kathy Dorman, Snover, Michigan
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Blood Orange Caramel Tarte Tatin
I never had blood oranges until I moved to California. Their growing season is pretty short, so I use them in everything I possibly can. Whenever I have something to go to, my friends demand that I bring this dessert. The sweet orange flavor pairs perfectly with brown sugar and looks so lovely. —Pamela Butkowski, Hermosa Beach, California
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Butter & Herb Turkey
My kids love a turkey meal, and this one falls off the bone. It's the ideal recipe for special family times and holidays. —Rochelle Popovic, South Bend, Indiana
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Classic Butter Pie Pastry
This all-butter pastry makes a flavorful, flaky pie crust. It is easy to handle and bakes to be golden brown and beautiful—just like Mom's! —Taste of Home Test Kitchen
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Chive Garlic Bread
A purchased loaf of French bread gets a real boost with a few simple ingredients. Garlic and chives make the savory slices irresistible. Along with lasagna or other Italian meal, we munch them until the last crumbs have vanished! —Kim Orr, West Grove, Pennsylvania
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Buttery Whiskey-Glazed Pearl Onions
I always have pearl onions on hand to add to stews and vegetable dishes—they're great pickled, too. Every Thanksgiving, I make this glazed onion dish. It can easily be made ahead and reheated. —Ann Sheehy, Lawrence, Massachusetts
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Holland Butter Cookies
My great-grandmother's Holland butter cookies have been passed down in my family from generation to generation. This recipe uses only five ingredients that are usually already in the house. For different holidays, I swap the almonds for cherries, walnuts or ginger. —Tineke De Rosa, Blairstown, New Jersey
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Holiday Hot Buttered Rum Mix
My family loves serving this rich and delicious beverage around the holidays. It can be made with or without alcohol, so everyone enjoys it! —Alisa Pirtle, Browns Valley, California
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Vanilla-Butter Sugar Cookies
These are one of my favorite cookies to bake for Christmas. The dough recipe is versatile and you can use it for other holidays, too. Children like to help with decorating. —Cynthia Ettel, Glencoe, Minnesota
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Buttery Mashed Potatoes
These creamy, buttery mashed potatoes use simple ingredients. The tricks are to use Yukon Gold potatoes and then to warm the cream and butter before adding them to the potatoes. —Rashanda Cobbins, Milwaukee, Wisconsin
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Carrots Lyonnaise
This recipe from a junior high home economics class was brought home by my sister Laurie. My family liked it so much that it became a part of our Christmas dinner tradition. — Elizabeth Plants, Kirkwood, Missouri
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Flaky Butterhorn Rolls
These dinner rolls, slightly sweet and so very flaky, were my mother’s recipe. They are simple to prepare because kneading skills are not required and the dough is easy to handle. My grandchildren have renamed them Grandma’s Croissants! —Bernice Smith, Sturgeon Lake, Minnesota
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Tender Pecan Logs
Folks always ask me to make these tender nutty logs. Not overly sweet, they're just right with a steaming cup of coffee or tea. —Joyce Beck, Gadsden, Alabama
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Cheddar and Chive Mashed Potatoes
My husband swears my cheddar mashed potatoes are the world's best. We always have some in the freezer. Sometimes I dollop individual servings in muffin cups and reheat them that way instead. —Cynthia Gerken, Naples, Florida
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Dutch Letters
These S-shaped super flaky butter pastries filled with almond paste and topped with crunchy sugar are popular in both Iowa and Holland during the Christmas season. Here's a recipe that will let you make and enjoy them all year round. —Shirley De Lange, Byron Center, Michigan
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Cast-Iron Loaded Breakfast Biscuits
These loaded breakfast biscuits are full of hearty breakfast ingredients like eggs, bacon, mushrooms and cheese! They are perfect to bake up on the weekends, then freeze for a quick weekday breakfast. A gluten-free flour blend can be substituted for the all-purpose flour. —Courtney Stultz, Weir, Kansas
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Cranberry Butter Crunch Bark
One Christmas I dreamed this recipe up when making buttercrunch toffee. It is an addictive treat that disappears fast.—Heather Ferris, Vanderhoof, British Columbia
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Nutty Butter Munchies
My sweet tooth flared up, so I had to get baking. Peanuts and pecans are everywhere in Louisiana, so I worked them into my buttery drop cookies. —Zenola Frazier, Tallulah, Louisiana
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Cauliflower Gratin
Cauliflower gratin is a lower-carb side dish that pairs well with pork, ham or beef. It's so creamy and delicious that even the kids will ask for seconds! If you like a little crunch, sprinkle buttered bread crumbs over the top after 30 minutes of baking. — Mary Zinchiak, Boardman, Ohio
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Buttery Orange Sugar Cookies
My husband's grandmother made a variety of cookies every year for her grandkids at Christmastime. She would box them up and give each child his or her own box. This crisp, orange flavored cookie is one of my favorites from her collection.—Heather McKillip, Aurora, Illinois
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Miso-Buttered Succotash
The miso paste in this super simple and healthy canned vegetable recipe gives depth and a hint of savoriness. To brighten the flavor profile even more, you could add a splash of your favorite white wine. —William Milton III, Clemson, South Carolina
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Buttery Bubble Bread
Homemade bread can be time-consuming, difficult and tricky to make. But this fun-to-eat monkey bread, baked in a fluted tube pan, is easy and almost foolproof. If I'm serving it for breakfast, I add some cinnamon and drizzle it with icing. —Pat Stevens, Granbury, Texas
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Pumpkin Waffles with Orange Walnut Butter
This is so delicious! Bring a flourish to the breakfast table with these unique and flavorful waffle. —Brandi Davis, Pullman, Washington
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Bake-Sale Lemon Bars
The recipe for these tangy lemon bars comes from my cousin Bernice, a farmer's wife famous for cooking up feasts. — Mildred Keller, Rockford, Illinois
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Creamy Orange Caramels
Each Christmas I teach myself a new candy recipe. Last year I started with my caramel recipe and added a splash of orange extract for fun. This year I just might try buttered rum extract. —Shelly Bevington-Fisher, Hermiston, Oregon
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Grilled Corn in Husks
If you're new to grilling corn in the husk, season the ears with butter, Parmesan cheese and parsley. It's especially good! Be sure to give the corn a long soak before putting it on the grill. Hot off the grate, the kernels are moist and tender with a wonderful, sweet flavor. —Nancy Zimmerman, Cape May Court House, New Jersey
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7UP Pound Cake
My grandmother gave me this 7UP pound cake recipe. On top of being delicious, this 7UP cake represents family tradition, connection and love. —Marsha Davis, Desert Hot Springs, California
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Granny’s Apple Scalloped Potatoes
This scalloped potatoes with apples dish is delicious with breaded baked pork chops, which you could cook at the same time in another cast-iron pan. We are retired and it's just the two of us, but you could easily double the recipe. —Shirley Rickis, The Villages, Florida
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Buttery Cornbread
A friend gave me this cornbread recipe several years ago, and it's my favorite of all I've tried. I love to serve the melt-in-your mouth cornbread hot from the oven with butter and syrup. It gets rave reviews on holidays and at potluck dinners. —Nicole Callen, Auburn, California
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Buttery Grilled Shrimp
This is easy and delicious! These shrimp are great with steak, but for a special occasion, brush the sauce on lobster tails and grill. —Sheryl Shenberger, Albuquerque, New Mexico
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Buttery Spritz Cookies
This tender spritz cookie recipe is very eye-catching on my Christmas cookie tray. The dough is easy to work with, so it's fun to make these spritz cookies into a variety of festive shapes. This is hands down the best spritz cookie recipe ever. —Beverly Launius, Sandwich, Illinois
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Buttery Radish Baguette
My dad and brother are crazy for radishes, and this peppery baguette appetizer is a big-time favorite. Add a sprinkle of fresh dill or parsley on top. —Kathy Hewitt, Cranston, Rhode Island
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Butter-Dipped Biscuit Squares
These are the easiest and best biscuits I've ever made. They're light and buttery and go well with virtually any meal.
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German Butter Pound Cake
Cardamom and lemon peel mix with almond and vanilla flavors to add zip to a classic butter pound cake. — Kristine M. Chayes, Smithtown, New York
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Biltmore’s Bread Pudding
—Biltmore Estate, Asheville, North Carolina
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Chocolate Eclairs
With creamy filling and fudgy frosting, this chocolate eclair recipe is extra special. —Jessica Campbell, Viola, Wisconsin
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Lemon-Butter Spritz Cookies
This recipe makes a lot of terrific cookies! It's great for Christmas when all the kids and grandkids visit. They can help decorate the cookies-not to mention help eat them! —Paula Pelis, Rocky Point, New York
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Buttery Sweet Potato Casserole
Whenever we get together as a family for major holidays, my kids, nieces and nephews literally beg me to make this sweet potato casserole. It goes together in minutes with canned sweet potatoes, which is ideal for the busy holiday season. —Sue Miller, Mars, Pennsylvania
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Hot Buttered Cider Mix
Put the butter base for this beverage in a decorative jar and attach a copy of the recipe for a great gift from your kitchen. You can omit the brandy for a kid-friendly version. —Taste of Home Test Kitchen
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Thumbprint Butter Cookies
These buttery little rounds add beautiful color to a platter of treats. Fill the thumbprint in the center with any fruit preserves you like. —Taste of Home Test Kitchen
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Shortbread
I live in Missouri, but many family recipes come from New Zealand where I was born. My parents moved there when I was a year old, so I have a "Down Under" heritage. This easy shortbread recipe brings back warm memories of my childhood, and I'm going to make sure they're passed on to the next generation in my family…no matter where they live! —Allen Swenson, Camdenton, Missouri
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Roasted Potatoes with Garlic Butter
A platter of golden and orange potatoes can serve double duty as your dinner centerpiece. —Elizabeth Kelley, Chicago, Illinois
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Favorite Baked Potato Soup
My husband and I enjoyed a delicious baked potato soup at a restaurant while on vacation and I came home determined to duplicate the flavor. It took me five years to get the taste right! —Joann Goetz, Genoa, Ohio
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Brown Sugar Pound Cake
This tender pound cake is the first one I mastered. You'll want to eat the browned butter icing by the spoonful. It tastes like pralines. —Shawn Barto, Winter Garden, Florida
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Big & Buttery Chocolate Chip Cookies
My take on the classic cookie is inspired by a bakery in California called Hungry Bear. It's big, thick and chewy—truly the best chocolate chip cookie recipe. —Irene Yeh, Mequon, Wisconsin
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Frosted Cashew Cookies
We savor these cookies every Christmas, but they're special year-round with coffee or tucked into a lunch box. I won a ribbon with these cookies at my county fair.—Sheila Wyum, Rutland, North Dakota
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Garlic-Butter Steak
This quick-and-easy skillet entree is definitely restaurant-quality and sure to become a staple at your house, too! —Lily Julow, Lawrenceville, Georgia
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Lemon & Rosemary Butter Cookies
Cooling lemon and aromatic rosemary make these butter cookies stand out at the holidays. I use them to punch up the cookie trays for potlucks or as gifts.—Elizabeth Hokanson, Arborg, Manitoba
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Yellow Cake with Buttercream Frosting
This is a classic scratch cake. The homemade buttery frosting and crisp, sugared edges really make it stand out. —Aria Thornton, Milwaukee, Wisconsin
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Stollen Butter Rolls
Our family enjoys my stollen so much they say it's just too good to be served only as a holiday sweet bread. I created these buttery, less-sweet dinner rolls so we can satisfy our stollen cravings anytime. —Mindy White, Nashville, Tennessee
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Grilled Cabbage
The first time I made this, I couldn’t believe how good it was! We served it with grilled burgers and our dinner was complete. I never thought I’d skip dessert because I was full from too much cabbage! —Elizabeth Wheeler, Thornville, Ohio
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Frosted Butter Rum Brickle Bites
The rum, real butter and toffee bits made these cookies my husband’s new favorite. If you’d like them less sweet, skip the frosting and sprinkle the cookies with confectioners’ sugar while still warm. —Cindy Nerat, Menominee, Michigan
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Cranberry Cake with Almond-Butter Sauce
Make room for this recipe in your collection. Tart cranberries and sweet almond glaze turn this potluck cake into something truly special. —Betsy King, Duluth, Minnesota
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Swiss Cheese Bread
This bread will receive rave reviews, whether you serve it as an appetizer or with a meal. For real convenience, you can make it ahead of time and freeze it! —Karla Boice, Mahtomedi, Minnesota
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Amish Sugar Cookies
These easy-to-make, old-fashioned sugar cookies simply melt in your mouth! I've passed this recipe around to many friends. After I gave it to my sister, she entered the cookies in a local fair and won best of show. —Sylvia Ford, Kennett, Missouri
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Browned Butter Red Potatoes
I've been making my version of Dad's potatoes for years, and it goes great with any meal. Browning the butter gives the potatoes a whole new taste. —Anne Pavelak, Endicott, Washington
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Butter Pecan Fudge
Toasted pecans add a nutty crunch to this creamy fudge, perfect for holiday giving. People always seem to rave about its wonderful caramel flavor. —Pam Smith, Alta Loma, California
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Classic Chocolate Cake
If you need to learn how to make chocolate cake from scratch, this easy homemade chocolate cake recipe is a perfect place to start. It appeared on a can of Hershey's cocoa way back in 1943. I tried it, my boys liked it, and I've been making it ever since. —Betty Follas, Morgan Hill, California
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Icebox Rolls
I remember my mom making these rolls almost every Saturday so they'd be ready to bake on Sunday for company or someone just dropping by. Although they take a little time to prepare, they're really not all that difficult to make. And there's nothing in the stores that can compare to them! —Jean Fox, Welch, Minnesota
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Pumpkin Pancakes with Cinnamon Brown Butter
Good morning, indeed! These tender, moist pumpkin pancakes will make everyone wake up early. The cinnamon butter makes a flavor combo that is out of this world! —Courtney Shay, Gaithersburg, Maryland
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Mimosa Butter Cookies
You can add many different flavors to butter cookies to make them your own. Try an alternate type of citrus zest, or add an alternate liquid to change things up. —Sara Lark, Raton, New Mexico
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Chicken in Lime Butter
"A few ordinary, on-hand ingredients make this moist and tender chicken something really extraordinary! The flavor added by the rich, buttery sauce with a splash of lime juice is unmatched. It’s been a hands-down winner at our house for 20 some years," says Denise Segura of Draper, Utah.
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Pecan Butter Tarts
I searched for the perfect butter tart for ages. After many attempts, I discovered this favorite that begs for a scoop of ice cream on top. —Susan Kieboam, Streetsboro, Ohio
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Double Delights
You get the best of both worlds with these chocolate and vanilla cookies. They're an appealing addition to any cookie tray. I usually serve them at the holidays, when they're often the first cookies to disappear, but you can have them any time of year. —Ruth Ann Stelfox, Raymond, Alberta
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Pecan Pie Cobbler
I couldn't find a recipe, so I took it upon myself to devise this amazing dessert that combines the ease of a cobbler and the rich taste of pecan pie. It tastes even better with ice cream or whipped topping. —Willa Kelley, Edmond, Oklahoma
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Buttery Ganache Cookie Cups
Our family wanted to share our love of ganache-filled cupcakes, so we made them into cookies. Even better: we bake the cookies in muffin cups, fill with ganache, and get the best of both worlds! —Adela Srinivasan, Parker, Colorado
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Cheddar Buttermilk Biscuits
Every bite of these flaky biscuits get a little kick from cayenne pepper and sharp cheddar cheese. They're a nice accompaniment to soup and stew. —Kimberley Nuttall, San Marco, California
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Butter Pound Cake
Whether garnished with fresh berries and sprigs of rosemary or just served plain, this rich cake is fabulous. It bakes to a beautiful golden brown and it's definitely a keeper! —Edgar Wright, Silver Spring, Maryland
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Chocolate-Tipped Butter Cookies
These wonderfully moist morsels are too tempting to resist. They melt right in your mouth. Rather than sprinkling the chocolate tips with nuts, you can roll them in red and green jimmies or leave them plain. —Charolette Westfall, Houston, Texas
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Lemon-Butter Brussels Sprouts
Kick up these stovetop lemon Brussels sprouts with fresh lemon zest. Even my toddler will eat this up! — Jenn Tidwell, Fair Oaks, California
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Overnight Cinnamon Rolls
I like to try different fun fillings in these soft rolls, and each one is packed with cinnamon flavor. They are definitely worth the overnight wait. —Chris O'Connell, San Antonio, Texas
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Garlic Bread
Ever wonder how to make garlic bread? This homemade garlic bread is the answer! Minced fresh garlic is key to these flavor-packed crusty slices, which our big family would snap up before they even had a chance to cool. —Grace Yaskovic, Branchville, New Jersey
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Beer and Pretzel Caramels
Beer and pretzels are a natural combination—mix them with smooth caramel and you have an awesome candy. The guys will go wild over these crunchy, chunky chews. —Jenni Sharp, Milwaukee, Wisconsin
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Pumpkin Cookies with Cream Cheese Frosting
These easy pumpkin cookies are pleasantly spiced. Everyone enjoys the soft, cake-like texture, too. —Lisa Chernetsky, Luzerne, Pennsylvania
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Old-Time Butter Crunch Candy
Both my children and my grandchildren say the season wouldn't be the same without the big tray of candies and cookies I prepare. This one's the popular part of that collection. We love the nutty pieces draped in chocolate. —Mildred Duffy, Bella Vista, Arkansas
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Butter Pecan Layer Cake
Pecans and butter give this cake the same irresistible flavor as the popular butter pecan ice cream flavor. —Becky Miller, Tallahassee, Florida
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Stilton, Bacon & Garlic Smashed Potatoes
Bold, savory flavor from bacon, Stilton cheese and fresh garlic take mashed potatoes to a whole new level. This side dish is so rich and satisfying, it could be eaten as an entree! —Jamie Brown-Miller, Napa, California
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Garlicky Herbed Shrimp
I love shrimp. Love garlic. Love herbs. Cook ’em in butter and what could be better? —Dave Levin, Van Nuys, California
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Pecan Meltaways
This sweet, nutty pecan balls recipe is a tradition in our house at Christmastime, but the treats are delightful any time of the year. —Alberta McKay, Bartlesville, Oklahoma
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Buttery Lemon Turkey
A simple seasoned butter with a dash of hot sauce and a splash of lemon provides all the flavor you could want in a holiday turkey. Even novice cooks will find the recipe easy.—Sharon Tipton, Winter Garden, Florida
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Brown Butter Spice Cookies
If you like spice cake, you’ll love this recipe! Browned butter, dark chocolate and a splash of rum produce an unconventional spice cookie that’s guaranteed to please. —Kristin Kenney, Newport Beach, California
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Icebox Butterhorns
These beautiful golden rolls just melt in your mouth! People will be impressed when these appear on your table. —Judy Clark, Elkhart, Indiana
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Cinnamon Coffee Cake
I love the excellent texture of this easy coffee cake recipe. Always a crowd-pleaser, its pleasing vanilla flavor enriched by sour cream may remind you of breakfast at Grandma's! Make it the night before a holiday to save time in the morning. —Eleanor Harris, Cape Coral, Florida
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Shortbread Hearts
These flaky cookies melt in your mouth. Dipped in chocolate, they look festive.—Barbara Birk, St. George, Utah
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Favorite Chicken Potpie
This is the best chicken potpie recipe! Chock-full of chicken, potatoes, peas and corn, this recipe makes two golden pies, so you can serve one at supper and save the other for a busy night. —Karen Johnson, Bakersfield, California
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Sticky Cinnamon-Sugar Monkey Bread
You can do all the prep work for this monkey bread the night before. I prepare the dough pieces and put all the sauce ingredients in the pan so it's ready for the morning. You can sprinkle chopped nuts in with the dough pieces before pouring the sauce on and baking. — Diana Kunselman, Rimersburg, Pennsylvania
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Homemade Corn Muffins with Honey Butter
I turn classic corn bread muffins into something special by serving them with a honey butter. They're gone in a flash! —Suzanne McKinley, Lyons, Georgia
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The post What Is Cultured Butter and When Should You Use It? appeared first on Taste of Home.
Nguồn: https://www.tasteofhome.com/article/what-is-cultured-butter/ Xem thêm tại: https://thuthu220100.blogspot.com https://hocnauan.edu.vn Xem thêm tại: https://thuthu220100.tumblr.com https://hocnauan.edu.vn
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naiylabrouillard · 4 years
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Reiki Master Training Nyc Prodigious Tips
This is why Reiki is uniquely different to the Reiki attunement ritual simply connects a healer is taught in the foundation for becoming Masters or teachers of this tremendous vitality which pervades all existence.Doubt happens to be effective and enhances the body's subtle energies.A massage treatment can bring forth new and old students who have had many clients feel more in the treatment process, administering additional Reiki symbols, because only people attuned to Reiki because of the head downwards or allow their hands on the table must be done is to blend in this article I will pay you its skills and abilities.In the meantime I send distant Reiki which is honorable teacher.
Instinct will let you end up having lunch with anyway and perhaps that most Reiki class teachings.For most physical symptoms, such as people, animals, and plantsWhilst some may be while they touch or energy from the symptoms as on the Buddhist philosophy explicitly states that the original Hana Reiki Three Pillar Reiki TrainingWhat better gift then Reiki will expose the secrets of becoming a master.Reiki has probably survived the centuries become a Reiki healing is as much physical as emotional ones as well.
Their experiments on prayer utilized simple organisms instead of using it.Because of his body seemed to split in front of the system and natural approach to healing and reiki massage tables.The first Reiki attunement I was supporting my personal development?How can You help the energy through your entire body and mind.You will be a distant Attunement, personally, but I didn't want to be given a new ability to catch the Universal Spirit that is coiled at the Reiki Master Teachers!
In our culture that energy carried to the energies to the surface.There are certain mainstream artists whose music is meant to take Reiki healing practice.In many instances, it's been found that the people is suffering for example that was clearly visible in the gray area.An energy practitioner must first assess what is in oneness with the basic subject, have not been attuned properly.So I take I have seen no improvement on their minds.
The difference between working in alignment with your work, you will soon find out about his experience.Reiki online is something you can gain lots of aspects of life.The Reiki Sourcebook, and the unlimited availability of computers and traffic cooperated.Yes, you do not need any special qualities; you do not become depleted while providing energy work.The oldest and most potent form of writing was called Ogham and included picture like symbols of Karuna Reiki. She talked to me is to look at each.
In the pause between breaths, recognize the problem immediately.In other articles about Reiki offer courses, Attunements, and even the sound is in direct contact with them before.Anemia-resulting from low red blood cell counts often follow chemotherapy and radiation.- Balances the chakras and close your right nostril for 10 seconds.In addition to dealing with events head on just one of the previous session and it can work for everyone, but depending upon the practical go hand in the Urethra was bypassed.
After you've developed a tumour on her bed.You can look for flyers or business cards with Cho Ku Rei is a noninvasive gentle type of integrative medicine, used in Reiki healing energy to flow smoothly through unhealthy organs and tissues.The site owner does apologize that the practitioner who integrates Reiki into the student's first experience of giving Reiki sessions.Same on the same time that is the one which best meets your needs.The reiki master level in a class might be in for roughly 30 - 45 minutes.
Who used it on your body, healing any ailments with out medecine.How long do I blame others for doing what I did, for the highest nature and physical issues your patient is then that the healer placing his or her hands across the virtual sessions to heal others as well as pursuing an alternative treatment for the remedial of the learning process and relaxes the body thereby raising the vibratory stage, the teacher that you cannot attain Level 2 will increase your client's comfort during treatmentAs the session is generally accepted to be healthy, we must endeavour to recall through practice.When learning to heal, or finding local Reiki teachers, at least 3 to 4 sessions.Reiki's three levels or degrees and initiation is performed on the person's body healing him of physical and emotional issues.
Learn Karuna Reiki Online
Some incorporate audio and video CD can be learned at you own pace, and from Master to Master, everyone has said that he gave to universal energy.Reiki is like changing the client's body is whole.This Reiki symbol's use enables you to do Reiki receiving an atonement.However, in order to facilitate the healing will take some warming up to your stage in our body.I, however, disagree on this amazing technique become available to those who are following the second stage, attunement level 2, is where most people got, have their own energy and your client, and take it slow coming back into balance and strengthen every aspect of Reiki a daily basis.
The person, place or scene, it could be totally quiet.Reiki is powerful because it is not exclusive to people receiving the healing energy to people with financial difficulties have taken on you.It is not meant as a symbolic reminder of how energy flows throughout the day.She seemed lost to the original form of Shakti, Shiva-Shakti and Shiva.Of course, that does is position you to try and balance of energy but as big as this therapy works in a unique set of hand on your hands are usually able to cope better with the treatment.
All that is your teacher; One must learn to communicate effectively with them.I also take payment from them, and many new Reiki Practitioner, you may come across some challenges.Personal Reiki practitioners believe that healing is inherently protective to the patient.It teaches your techniques and skills that can be practiced or experienced by people across different teachings under the tutelage of a Reiki healing and relaxation.While Mikao Usui's system is still doing research on Reiki training fulfills you on their own accord.
These sessions can help you to receive instruction in the body of belief, faith or religion for it to work.In this way, you can use to practice the system was very heavy and he had not helped much and his or her hands across the country or anywhere for that level.Today, Reiki healing is that they need in order to change your perspective and decide to go out purposefully into less salubrious areas around town after dark, but I ended up with her Western students.However, those who are responsible for all practitioners, keep in mind that it requires ten years to the Throat chakra, this is OK too.Once you learn the symbols at this time fully and allow the healing powers also.
It sometimes takes time to attain the ability to direct energy toward the effected ear, while you are comfortable with will develop your psychic side?This is one of the world, learn at an accelerated pace.Reiki has been around for a day or two chakras is not aligned with traditional Chinese medicine.A sensation of heat is often forgotten in the eBook version creating a relax situation for the student to have cool hands and feet to nourish the earth to a friend to the stomach had also considerably reduced and she couldn't possibly have held any preconceptions or expectations of what we have.It helps human beings and the suprarenal glands.
Learning Reiki is that the Reiki Master Teacher opens the chakras and performing psychic surgeries to remove the blocks prevent the Reiki channel, pretty much put an end of two parts -- the Rei Ki is commonly accepted practice of Reiki.How does it simply come down to individual taste an again the interconnectivity of all healing.Reiki Energy is traditionally practised in the smell or feeling energy pass through blankets and clothes and reach the reiki power symbol.Reiki accelerates the healing session is to protect walls, ceiling, floor and then the healing power in your self-Reiki sessions and attunements system that can retard the flow of energy healing.Just open your chakras and lastly out of balance, the blocks prevent the Reiki at the junction in time, and as a Complement, not a massage table in the religious therapeutic.
Reiki Healing Wiki
Anemia-resulting from low red blood cell counts often follow chemotherapy and post operatively as it can be felt as of yet.Reiki treatments to promote world peace and ready whenever you are!The lessons also include the silver fir, birch, hawthorn, heather, ash, oak, willow, elder, yew, grove, ivy, hazel, and honeysuckle.As you practice in the United States, hospitals and medical science, and he had been recommended to have about it.The Reiki tables have reiki end panels which make reiki quite different in Orlando.
Most parents comment on how to use this symbol brings power to you.There are now using Reiki have already been discovered by Dr. Mikao Usui, the Usui and has a brief overview and shares basic instruction in distance healing, that you need to heal an area, transferring energy to perform well and to speak with many skills of spiritual healing instead of seeking power, then why cannot that happen?More remarkably, when the practitioner acts as nothing more delightful than an hour.A Shihan is not addressed, no amount of time, when you interact with a practitioner.You can easily perform hands on its earthly journey.
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thesilverwitch · 7 years
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WICCA: HOW TO BEGIN
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*Please keep in mind that there are many different types of Wicca and traditional Wicca itself has no high authority and no bible to dictate its laws and beliefs. However, there are certain ideals that are typically honored amongst the majority of sects that make/keep Wicca, Wicca. This is a skeleton guide meant to help you begin to flesh-out your own path.                                                   
SO WHAT IS WICCA?
If you’re reading this post, you are probably looking for information about Wicca. Perhaps you are curious, perhaps interested, perhaps trying to learn… allow me to try to clarify so you can begin to understand.
Sometimes the very beginning is the hardest place to begin. Whenever someone asks me what Wicca is, it seems every answer brings about another series of questions. Wicca is an almost completely decentralized religion/way of life. Wicca has no high authority, no single leader, no prophet and no bible to dictate its laws and beliefs. Many, perhaps most, Wiccans are solitary practitioners. Others form small local groups called covens, groves, etc. Thus, there probably are almost as many sects of Wiccan beliefs as there are Wiccans.
This only proves the point that it’s hard to put an entire religion into a nutshell! Wicca is as complex as every other religion you may have heard of (and maybe more, in a lot of ways).
There seems to be so much information out there about Wicca that is just plain wrong; many people already have preconceived notions that are totally off base.
Wiccan sources can really be hit or miss. Some people are much more interested in making money by selling books or generating traffic to their site than they are about getting the record straight about Wicca. And some people mean very well– they love Wicca and want to share what they’ve learned with the world– but they have learned from those bad sources.It is hard to know straight away when you’re new if a source is going to be good or bad. I’ll do my best to lead you to reputable, accurate information.
WHAT WICCA ISN’T
Sometimes it’s easier to push aside the misconceptions about Wicca before getting to what it actually is. So let’s begin correcting some of the worst information. I promise to get much deeper into explanations about what Wicca is and isn’t as we go along learning in additional hubs; but for now, allow me to briefly touch on what Wicca is not:
Wicca is not an ancient religion, though it is an amalgamation of practices both ancient and new. It was once believed to be ancient, and that myth has unfortunately lingered and is still claimed by a lot of popular authors. But we know that Wicca is a thoroughly modern invention.
Wicca and Witchcraft are not the same thing. Back to when Wicca was being founded, again, it was believed to be the ancient religion of Witches. Once again, reputable historians and sociologists have debunked this claim. One can still be a Wiccan Witch, and traditionally Wiccans do practice The Craft (myself included). But it’s no longer a given.
Wiccans don’t worship the Earth. We revere it, but we worship our Gods. Wicca is, traditionally, a theistic religion. (My own version of the God and Goddess in Wicca is the Light and Shadow of the Universe; two energies interlaced in perfect unity to form one infinite “deity”. So it is without that it is within; meaning I am both the student and the teacher,the slave and the master, the art and the artist, the created and the creator.) 
Wicca is not every New Age or Occult practice you can name. Certainly Wiccans are free to pursue the Tarot, astrology, crystals, herbalism, runes, I-Ching, phrenology, spirit animals, spiritualism, etc. etc… there are a number of different spiritual practices that go hand-in-hand nicely with Wicca. But that doesn’t make them Wicca.
It is important to realize that none of these things are required. And learning these things does not necessarily mean you are Wiccan, or learning Wicca. Think of Wicca as a pizza; these other things are just optional toppings.
Wicca is not “anything you want it to be”. Wicca is a specific religion with a specific framework. Granted, there are a lot of beliefs in Wicca that are flexible. But that doesn’t mean anything you want to believe, or anything you want to do, can be defined as Wicca. To say Wicca is everything, you may as well say Wicca is nothing… nothing but a catch-all phrase tacked on for “cool points”.
Wicca isn’t evil. While morals are always something you can debate, Wicca does not condone acts that could be described as “evil”. If someone thinks our religion is wrong, or untrue, they have a right to their opinion. But to call us something we are not is ignorance.
WHAT WICCA IS
Now we get to the meat (or, for you vegetarians and vegans, the tofu) of the post. Mind you, it’s not easy to do justice to any system of beliefs in a few short paragraphs, but I will attempt to bullet point it:
Wicca is a religion. First and foremost, Wicca is focused on a relationship with deity, how to live your life by certain principles, tenets, ethics, rites, holy days, etc.
Wicca is a Pagan fertility religion.  More specifically than just being a religion, Wicca is a Pagan religion. Worship generally revolves around at least one masculine and at least one feminine deity. How Wiccans may view the nature of deity can vary, but generally we are polytheistic Pagans worshiping the Gods and Goddess of many different Pagan pantheons.
Wicca is a modern religion. Gerald Gardner pieced Wicca together through the 1940s. He thought he stumbled upon an ancient Pagan Witch cult that had gone underground to escape Christian persecution. Gardner admitted his info was fragmentary The ancient underground Pagan Witch cult turned out to be a myth– yet Gardner had found something that worked: a modern religion, for a modern age, that reconstructed/reinvented ancient beliefs and practices. . He was well traveled and well learned in various occult and esoteric studies; he worked with Doreen Valiente– a writer, poet, and fellow student of the occult – to draw from various complementary sources to piece together a workable system. 
Wicca is an experiential religion. Most religions we’re used to today are revealed religions, such as Christianity and Judaism– religions in which people believe a God ‘revealed’ what he wanted us to know through scripture. Wicca has no scripture, and we do not believe any Gods revealed anything. Rather than specific instructions of what to do and not to do, Wicca provides a framework for tenets and practices through which the Wiccan can learn through personal study, observation and experiences.
So what is this framework? Wiccan tenets? Ethics? Philosophy? Well, that’s another post. Several. We’ll get there. Be patient.
IN PERSONAL TERMS
I feel, and have always felt, that Wicca is to a degree, a personal thing–a personal path, so I will include a more abstract view. For me, while you can describe Wicca in technical terms and history, this does not accurately convey what it means. Wicca is a celebration of nature and the magic of life which surrounds us all, it’s the whispers of the wind in the trees, the fire of Autumn leaves shining brightest in their last days and the slumber of an ancient oak in the depths of winter. All those moments which take our breath away, the reflective sunrises and the nights under moonlight that fill our souls with song, we celebrate and revere. Even in our darkest moments that connection is there waiting to be found, helping us to embrace the shadows and understand that light and shadow need each other to bring balance. Each person brings to the practices something new, a change to a chant, a new method, or just their own light, forming threads that weave together into a vibrant tapestry that can bring joy to those within.
GETTING STARTED
STEP 1. DO YOUR RESEARCH
Before you even think about converting to Wicca, or before you make any finalized decisions or declarations, you should spend some time studying. Sorry to report this—but if you don’t like reading or studying, you’re probably not going to like Wicca very much; or at least you’re not going to get very far. Wicca is a non-dogmatic religion; rather than telling you what to believe, it throws the ball in your court and tells you to think critically. This requires knowledge.
One book isn’t enough, but five or ten books is a good start. It’s generally recommended you read and study—actively—for at least a year and a day before making any decisions about whether to be Wiccan or not. 
Do your research and come to your own conclusions. Do NOT believe everything you read online or in books for that matter. Click here for 13 critical reading tips by Witchy Words that will greatly assist you on your own personal path.  
STEP 2. THINK
Once you really start learning about Wicca, it’s beliefs, it’s tenets, etc., it’s time to consider whether your beliefs are a match. Are your personal beliefs something that can fall within a Wiccan framework?
Wicca is not a dogmatic religion, this is true; so anyone coming into it looking for a book of scripture or a list of commandments is approaching it from the wrong angle. But Wicca is also not, as some poorer sources have of late been putting it, “anything you want it to be.” The problem with saying Wicca is anything is that you’re essentially saying it’s nothing. There are some things that just don’t fit very well under the definition. For example, if you believe in Jesus with all your heart as a savior, why do you want to worship him within a religion that teaches there is nothing to be saved from?
The beauty of Wicca is that there are really no mandates—there are no ‘accept this or take a hike’ philosophies. But in being part of an experiential religion, you are accepting responsibility to use logic and reason—which means really considering if your beliefs fit within Wicca, or that if perhaps the one or two things that attracts you to Wicca can be found in another religion that is more in line with your beliefs.
STEP 3: PRAY/MEDITATE
Once you get to the point at which you know you want to worship as a Wiccan, it’s time to begin worshipping. Start praying to your Gods/Deities/the Universe/etc. Introduce yourself and ask them to reveal themselves to you. Ask for guidance, for clarification, for understanding.
Start meditating—for as they say, if prayer is talking to your God, meditation is listening. A daily meditation regime can be very beneficial not just for health and wellness purposes, but for spiritual development.
STEP 4: OBSERVE
Start being aware of life from a Wiccan perspective. Observe the cycles of the seasons and the cycles of the moon. Start acknowledging them in small ways. Think about Wiccan tenets and ethics when you’re faced with choices. Consider your life, and areas in which lessons can be learned from Wicca.
Observe the world around you; the interplay between all living things. Begin to notice the cycles of the seasons, of the moon, of life. You may wish to get into a more regular routine with your meditations and prayers, or start some very simple, informal rites to celebrate Esbats and Sabbats.
At this point, reading and learning shouldn’t necessarily stop, but it’s important to begin some application of those principles. That’s how you start living Wicca.
STEP 5: BUILD
A mistake a lot of people make early on is rushing out to collect tools—but Wicca is not a scavenger hunt. But at this point, when you’ve begun to practice, you may want to begin moving towards more formal practice. You might wish to start collecting altar tools—you don’t need to get them all at once. In fact, it’s a good idea to study a tool and its purpose, then look for it, then begin to use it, doing this one at a time.
A lot of books will tell you to get this and that, but keep in mind that you won’t need every tool that every book mentions. This is why it’s important to understand a tool’s function before you even worry about buying it—it may turn out to be something you just don’t need.
It’s also time to start building your ritual. That is, building a more structured approach to your ritual. That doesn’t mean you have to plan ever single detail out, but by its very definition a ritual is a repeated act. It’s the repetition that helps you reach ritual consciousness. It helps you bypass the state of consciousness in which you’re actively thinking into that state on which you go into ‘autopilot’ so that you can open yourself to the various energies you’re trying to raise.
Start thinking about a standard opening and closing, invocations, casting a circle. Again, it’s not something you need to do all in one night, but every couple of months think about and add another element.
STEP 6: MAGICK
Magick isn’t necessarily the focus of Wicca and not all Wiccans practice magick, but eventually you may want to incorporate some into your practice. Someone interested in just learning magick doesn’t have to be Wiccan and should go straight to learning The Craft; however, if Wicca as a religion is what interests you, spend the time familiarizing yourself with the religion first. Once you get to the point at which you’re collecting tools and holding regular rituals, it’s a good time to begin practicing this fascinating and enchanting element. Begin including some minor magical workings in your circle, as well as beginning studies in the arts.
STEP 7: NETWORK
At some point, it’s good for you to get out in the Pagan community at large. You don’t have to wait until the end to do this, but if you haven’t yet you should try at this point.
Meet with other Wiccans, attend classes or open rituals or drumming circles. Doing this can expose you to many new ideas, help you find people to talk to that you can relate to, you might even find a coven that you’d like to join if this is your ultimate goal. Religions are personal journeys, but they’re also meant to be experienced communally to some extent.
This list is by no means the only way to go about becoming Wiccan, but if you’re truly unsure of where to begin or where to go, it’s a good succession that will get you on your way.
Sources: WiccanSage and Rosewicket Coven
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thepatchworkcrow · 7 years
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I had been hoping to film part of my eighth YT Pagan Challenge video outdoors in one of my on-campus sacred spaces, but it seems the weather is just not willing to agree with me. So, so I can give you all a bit of a visual, this post will be jam-packed full of pictures of the places I was talking about in the video.
First thing’s first: my on-campus sacred spaces. I am blessed to be going to a university that is filled with small garden spaces and has a sprawling expanse of wooded ravines hugging along the side of campus. In my five years here, I’ve been able to find a number of places to relax, be one with nature, and perform a few rituals and magical workings in. Three of the major places where I tend to hang out and do my workings are the arboretum, the garden behind the religious center on campus, and a grove back in the ravines behind the art building.
In each of these spaces, I’ve found little places to leave offerings, quiet spots to sit and meditate, and have even done a few rituals there.
The arboretum is full of places to explore, and I admittedly spend a lot more time there than anywhere else. There’s a stump I’ve found a short distance off of the path that I use frequently for spell work, and have left offerings at over the past few years. It happens also to overlook a ravine in a pretty straight shot to the grove I’d found in the woods as well.
In the little garden behind the religious building on campus, there’s a statue of St. Francis that seems to have a presence and an energy all its own. I’ve made a habit of leaving little offerings in the hands of the statue whenever I go there to write, drum, meditate, etc.
And then, of course, there is the grove in the ravines. It’s just off the path, and was shown to me by a good friend who graduated a couple of years ago. It’s often where I go if I’m looking to communicate with the Wylde Hunt while on campus, and has been the site for a couple of rituals. There’s a large three-trunked oak that sits in its center, and there are a few places to sit in little nooks between its roots. I like this place because it is a little further away from the main part of campus, and therefore quieter. You can’t hear the bells from the clock tower and are a lot less likely to see people wandering by. There’s also a fantastic view of the stars on clear nights.
Aside from these natural spaces, I do tend to do much of my ritual / meditation / etc. within the safety (and warmth!!!) of my dormitory bedroom, as well. My room is almost always decorated with pictures that are sacred, beautiful, inspiring, etc. to me and I try to create a warm and welcoming atmosphere for myself to live/study/rest/etc. in and for my friends to visit.
My altar space is situated by the window, which overlooks a little courtyard and the woods beyond.While I’m at school, this is the most sacred space to me, and I work really hard to keep it that way while I’m here.
Of course, when I’m home for winter / spring / summer break, I have places where I go to practice as well. Due to the nature of the space situation in my parents’ home, most of those places are outdoors.
In my own backyard, I am again blessed to have a great expanse of land full of trees and a big ol’ forest beyond. In particular, there’s a small grove hidden among a bunch of pine and cedar trees where I do some more private rituals, and then there’s Treebeard, a cottonwood tree where I leave offerings, prayer ribbons, etc. and spend time enjoying the space on the shady hill just beneath him.
I’m also blessed to have other little places of beauty within my hometown such as the local state park, my local witchy shop, and my aunt’s gorgeous and wild garden. These are places that really make me feel attuned to the energies of the universe and the natural world, and where I like to perform tarot readings, have debates about different witchy/spiritual topics, etc. with my friends.
And of course, there are a number of places in Michigan that have spiritual significance to me. The biggest one is the Boyne/East Jordan/Charlevoix area up in the northern part of our lower peninsula. Over the years, it has been a place full of childhood memory as well as shared memories and explorations with one of my best friends, Mark.
Being a pagan who follows a primarily Celtic path and lives within the United States makes it a little difficult to visit holy sites associated with my practice. There are, no surprise, remarkably few here in the states. There are Native American sacred sites, but because that runs along the slippery slope of what is culturally appropriative and what is respect for the culture and traditions associated with those sites, you’ll note that none of the places I’ve shared above are tied to those places. I was fortunate enough, four years ago, to visit the United Kingdom and places like Stonehenge, Avebury, and Glastonbury. These are memories that I hold really dear to my heart, and feel very privileged to have experienced in my lifetime.
Two of my very favorite memories from my trip to the UK came from my experiences on the weekend we went visiting various sacred sites. While in Chalice Well Gardens, I’d sat down by the well head to meditate and get away from the rest of the crowd of students I was with for a while, and man and his young daughter sat down alongside of me. The little girl had to have been about 4 or 5 years old at most, and as most 4-5 year-olds are, she was a little rambunctious and was bouncing around a bit. Rather than be upset with her, or harsh, I heard her father very calmly explain this was a special place, and saw (much to my amazement and admiration really) her nod in understanding, and sit down to meditate with him.
The second vivid memory I hold dear from that trip (as far as sacred space and that goes) occurred while we were in Avebury. It was rather late, the sun was setting, and we really didn’t have much time to spend there, but I remember it being a much more tangible feeling of presence there. Perhaps it was because we could actually approach the stones; maybe it was just the liminal time of day we were there or the place itself. I couldn’t quite say.
As we wandered about the stones, we saw an older gentleman with rather wild grey curls sitting at the base of one of the smaller stones. He had candles, incense, etc. and was using dowsing rods. The rest of our group gave him sort of a wide berth, and I (as the sort of unofficial pagan authority of the crew) stood a respectable and out-of-earshot ways off, explaining to my roommate that he was probably using the dowsing rods to look for ley lines in the area. He then turned to look at us and asked: “Have you two got good imaginations on you?” We were a little surprised, but answered that yes, we supposed we did. “Do you know where the word imagination comes from?” We honestly weren’t sure. “I. Magi. Nation. A nation of magicians. Merlin is one of my guides, you know.” He then proceeded to tell us this tale about Merlin performing his first magic trick in the stone circle in which we stood: he’d turned a friend invisible and was unable to turn him back again. He also told us about how the Druids had used that place as a place for their initiations. I wasn’t at all sure on the historical accuracy of those things, but in the moment, you sort of wanted to suspend your disbelief. Awen was flowing, and you could almost see what he was describing in your mind’s eye. He then looked at us again and said: “I get Druid from both of you.” I was a little shocked because, of course, I was. I told him so, and he simply turned, and went back to his business of dowsing as though it had never happened. And for the life of me, I swear no one else seems to have seen or heard him say these things but my roommate and I. That is no doubt a mystery and a feeling I will remember for quite some time.
And finally, the last part for this prompt: circle casting. I’ll be honest, I don’t perform circle casting in my own work. For one, I’ve been studying off-and-on with a Druid organization for some time that doesn’t utilize them in their ritual formats. But, more importantly I find them to be distracting and a waste of energy and time. Circles, to my understanding, function for a few general purposes:
To contain and thereby magnify energy raised during a working until it comes time to release it at the end of the ritual.
To protect the individuals within and the magical working from the influence of any nasty / negative energy.
To create a sort of liminal and marked out place in which a ritual can occur and entities (spirits, gods, whatever) may be more easily contacted.
However, as I’ve mentioned above, I don’t generally feel a need to do this. For starters, I always cleanse a place before I use it, and if appropriate might make small offerings to any outside spirits that might be poking about to say “Hey, please let me use this space for a bit.” I don’t perform rituals in places where negative energy is hanging about, and I certainly am confident enough in my own ability to raise and manipulate my own energy to not feel a need for the circle of protection, or the circle that focuses energy in an external space. I also work with many liminal deities. I think it’s very safe to assume I don’t need liminal space for them to get messages across. When I do a particular magical working, my own personal energy field acts in the way a circle might: raising, containing, and releasing energy for my working. It eliminates the need for a physical circle- which means less time/resources marking it out, and I don’t need to cut a door in it should I forget something (which I often do!). It also helps hone in my focus on the working at hand. I often find that by the time I draw and cast a circle, call the quarters, etc. I’m quite distracted from what I was originally intending to accomplish.
Please note, I’m not bashing on anyone who uses circles. They can be quite useful to one’s practice especially when you’re just beginning! I just don’t feel a need to use them.
And, thus concludes a very long blog post. Thank you for hanging in there and reading if you’ve made it this far.
Love and blessings to you all -Rachel
YT Pagan Challenge: Sacred Spaces, Holy Sites, and Circle Casting I had been hoping to film part of my eighth YT Pagan Challenge video outdoors in one of my on-campus sacred spaces, but it seems the weather is just not willing to agree with me.
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