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Moonbeams, Amethyst and Blood

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The amethyst pendant lands with a muffled thud upon the grass on the other side of the wrought iron fence. The wind rustles through the trees but Carlos blocks out the tempting whispers and tries hard to ignore the feeling of being watched outside of the two visible Fae.

 The first is sitting quietly on the ground. Blue and violet tinted eyes flickering between Carlos and the piece of jewelry he's just flung over the fence. Wary fingers reach for the glinting silver chain and bring it closer to examine the hexagonal gemstone twined in curling silver wire. He considers the gift for a moment longer before lowering the gift to look at Carlos; head tilted to the side. Face split into a monochrome patchwork of moonlight and shadows save his eyes which blink slowly as he speaks.

 “I'm listening.”

It's this measured reply that causes the second Fae- a dryad- pacing along the treeline four yards back to snap to attention. Head turning towards them with a snap that nearly echoes like a twig splintering under footsteps. Carlos has only the span of an inhale; enough time to process glowing green eyes sharp as pine needles- before the creature has moved. It's shadow looming over Carlos through the fence. Hawthorns on its shoulder blades bristling like porcupine quills.

 Carlos takes a step back despite the spikes of iron between them. It seems a rather unwise idea to infuriate someone whom has thorns growing out of their flesh though he is intrigued by how fast the Fae had moved. He makes a mental note to record that later even as his stomach begins twisting itself up with a morbid dread. If he were on the other side of the fence- he wouldn't be able to outrun them.

  Fingers curl and uncurl into fists as the dryad glares at him but speaks to its companion on the ground. “He's trespassing, we should kill him.”

 “We could , but he's not on this side of the fence.” The sonorous voice replies with a wave towards the barrier entangled with curling tendrils of ivy. “Besides if we killed every trespasser that famer would have been dead moons ago.”

 Carlos blinks in shock at this statement. For multiple reasons.

The least- or possibly most concerning of which he chooses to focus on.  “Farmer, you know John?” This inquiry though certainly heard goes ignored or at least Carlos doesn't get an answer. So he poses a different one.

“You're- not going to kill me then are you?”

  The blue-eyed Fae turns to him.

Kill you?” it muses. “Why, should I?” He blinks and tilts his head. The mannerism reminds Carlos of a bird and he uses that to distract himself from the tone that slipped into the question that twisted it into something darker.

 “He's trespassing.” The dryad reminds. “Yes we've been over that point and if you see that as reason enough to kill him then the least you can do is tell him your name before you attempt to scale that fence and rip him to shreds, afford him that common courtesy yes?”

 “No.”

“Then let him be, it's not as if I invited him to look upon Huntokar.”

 This comment gets the white-haired Fae a thorned elbow in the ribs. Carlos flinches at the sight of quicksilver blood.

 “The harm in talking is that you never shut up.” The dryad remarks in a voice as dry as dying leaves as the other stands in a single fluid motion. Forget-me-not eyes glowing.

 “Be a thorn in my side then, but since you are so keen to ruin my fun, you are officially subjected to hearing me complain about it. Escort me back to The Vale of Night then, oh honorable Eternal Scout.”

 It's then that a breeze rustles through the leaves of the trees and Carlos can definitely hear voices this time. He's certain of it, especially when the dryad goes rigid and turns his head to the side as though listening. The two exchange a look the full meaning of which is lost on Carlos before the dryad retreats to the treeline. The other makes to follow but stops to consider him once more.

 “Do you have a name then?”

“Carlos-” the reply is out before he can stop himself in part because he's distracted. It's only after he says it that he realizes his mistake and swears internally.   Well it's certainly too late to retract the statement but he can certainly hold his tongue on his surname and pray that will salvage the situation somewhat.

  Carlos also becomes aware of the fact that he's probably being influenced by a glamour. He can't remember if direct eye contact was ever specified as bad. It's certainly more difficult then it should be to find something else to look at.

 The glint of moonlight off of crystal seems as good a place as any to focus on as the creature clasps the silver chain around it's throat.

 “You may call me Cecil.

Carlos blinks and Cecil's gone. The sweet scent of vanilla lingering in the air. That and a name and though he's glad to have a name for the face he's seen he's equally if not more curious about the name of the place he hasn't seen: The Vale of Night.

 

~~~

 

Huntokar! Huntokar. You just had to mention Huntokar?” Earl bristles. Voice rasping in a disbelieving hiss like leaves skittering across the forest floor.

 “I am her emissary.”

“You are her emissary,” the dryad concedes. Shoulder thorns set on edge like porcupine quills. “You are her emissary; Emissary between The Vale of Night and The Court of Sun.”

  Cecil scoffs. “The mighty Unseelie Court has not spoken to Huntokar in four centuries.”

 “Be that as it may, you shouldn't name her to mortals.”

 “I did not name her to a mortal. I named her to you in the presence of a mortal. It was not even her full name. Do not call me a fool.”

 “I will call you whatever I wish to. If you want to acquaint yourself with mortals then I think you a fool, because one way or another. Humans die.” This last piece said. He melts against the truck of the nearest tree and disappears.  

 “Thank ever so much for your wonderful pessimism!” Cecil scowls at the oak which swallowed his friend and spins in a circle face tilted to the gaps of rapidly brightening sky past the leaves.

  The leaves of the trees rustle and Cecil knows they're laughing at him. “Oh shut it.” The rustling stops and quiet descends. Cecil is alone.

 He hates being alone.