#event: fidchell

[herownwildwhisper]

blood cures blood

DATE: June 21st – the chaos of the Fidchell fire (with admin permission) LOCATION: Tara, An Sídalann WITH: @forcstfire

None of it felt real: ever since she’d been initiated into their hidden little world in New York, ever since she’d first laid eyes on their realm, the (trueborn) fey had seemed.. impossible and steady and certain. Like nothing could ever shake them, try as it might.

But things changed.

Around her, the fire ate and ate and ate, always hungry, tongue lapping for fresh morsels of whatever it came across. All she could do was ferry those injured to safer places, wings becoming black cotton becoming wings again as Ivy flew across the arena, edging closer and closer to the flames.

It saddened her to see Tara like this – and for one single moment of grief, she flew too close, wing catching light and bursting into flames.

She was on the ground a second later, arm pressed hard against the sand – but the damage was done. A sharp sting coursed down her arm; burned skin pulled taut over flesh and bone, sand grinding into the raw wound her limb had become.

“Shit–”

Fuck, how it hurts.

Of course she looked up in time to catch the gaze of Forest fucking Fairfield.

She could barely hold back her instinctive snarl. Barely.

[herownwildwhisper]

heartlines on your hand

DATE: June 21st – the chaos of the Fidchell fire LOCATION: Tara, An Sídalann WITH: @iambecomcdeath

There were different flavours of fear. You could be scared for someone, or of them. You could be scared of the dark. You could fear death. So many flavours of fear were a slow poison; the kind that built and built for years, the kind that simmered quiet beneath your skin, waiting for its moment. Illogical in how they tried to anticipate disaster; illogical in what they considered that disaster to be. Things didn’t have to be dangerous to feel dangerous.

But the green fire that swept through the arena; that heaving banner.. that was a viper’s bite: immediate and precise, chaos unleashing like a broken dam; fear taking hold with an iron grip.

She had ferried her Players off, one by one; had swept together the ones she could, avoiding the grass as she flew, sparrow-wings carrying her quick and out of the way of the stampede, Ivy touching ground only to take off moments later.

The chaos was slowly dimming as the ones capable fought the fire, and so she chanced a survey of the land beyond the arena–– and there was Rowan, by a patch of grass, and in the light of the fire, it seemed to shift into blue. She swept downwards, avoiding the grass as she had inside, weaving a path. Bird became woman in the blink of an eye, almost as if the mind removed the moment that should have come between the two; Ivy careful to avoid the grass once she landed.

“Rowan!”