((Please move the RP to Tengel Rainforest when the event is over))
There was fear in her heart, in her very soul. A thundering, wholehearted fear that threatened to consume her. She carefully swallowed as she stared at the thick, black mist. It was barely brushing against the edges of her forest. Her sacred place, her tousand acre altar.
She could feel it trying to seep into the far-reaching roots of the old oaks that stood guard. The ancient beings, alsmot as old as she. The sacred charms hanging from their branches sang in the soft wind, sending roils of mist up in towers before they settled back into the undulating mass she could not tear her eyes from.
By the gods, she was scared. She could feel the guardian oaks begging her for power, like a children's hands insistently tugging at her dress. She licked her lips carefully, shaking the yoke of fear from her shoulders, and she took in a breath. She would stand against this, she would keep her forest alive if it took every ounce of her power.
She turned away from the border of her land, huffing loudly. She fed some of her power into the oaks, and she could hear them audibly groan in thanks. She nodded lightly, beginning to retreat deeper into the forest, into the source of her power, towards the twisted wood throne, intertwined with flowers and vines, where she could think and plan.
She wondered, for a moment, if anyone would visit her forest during these bleak times, and if they did, if they could help.
There was fear in her heart, in her very soul. A thundering, wholehearted fear that threatened to consume her. She carefully swallowed as she stared at the thick, black mist. It was barely brushing against the edges of her forest. Her sacred place, her tousand acre altar.
She could feel it trying to seep into the far-reaching roots of the old oaks that stood guard. The ancient beings, alsmot as old as she. The sacred charms hanging from their branches sang in the soft wind, sending roils of mist up in towers before they settled back into the undulating mass she could not tear her eyes from.
By the gods, she was scared. She could feel the guardian oaks begging her for power, like a children's hands insistently tugging at her dress. She licked her lips carefully, shaking the yoke of fear from her shoulders, and she took in a breath. She would stand against this, she would keep her forest alive if it took every ounce of her power.
She turned away from the border of her land, huffing loudly. She fed some of her power into the oaks, and she could hear them audibly groan in thanks. She nodded lightly, beginning to retreat deeper into the forest, into the source of her power, towards the twisted wood throne, intertwined with flowers and vines, where she could think and plan.
She wondered, for a moment, if anyone would visit her forest during these bleak times, and if they did, if they could help.