these ebon halls are always [ dark. ]

[bambi.]

as dark as the winter
as black as her ghastly veil
as cold as her whisper
and chilling gown

Night fell the instant any creature entered these woods, and the silence of it was so stifling, it silenced the voices of all who entered; even the odd hind-legged campers dared not wake with their loud voices and clumsy feet what lay there; it thus remained untouched by their skilful, bare paws. It seemed the forest slept as if under a long-enduring spell, yearning to wake; or like a great beast sleeping uneasily, lost in dark dreams, never certain they are not real. The wood itself was like a dream; dark and almost wholly lightless, except patches of the sun's salvation scattered to and fro. It was the setting of many a kittenhood nightmare, all of being stalked, or hunted, or chased by a monster unseen, unheard, but ever-present. The monster of the dreams lay hidden in the hearts of all who entered here, tensing their muscles, never allowing them easy rest.

Only one creature slept easily here, a soul aware of but entirely unconcerned with the rumour and fear that surrounded the place. But he, too, was silent under the austere boughs. Here, he thought, the spirits would not appreciate spoken prayer. Here he came to meditate, to commune, sometimes for days on end, and make silent offerings at sacred places he had deemed so but a little over a year before. He loped now at an easy pace over the soft needle beds of the undergrowth, the sharp-smelling, wide-growing roots, and sometimes a tiny stream or pool, to his destination. In his jaws he gently carried a crow, intending to offer its body to the spiritess who guarded this land, and give its spirit back to the world whence it had come. It would go now to the trees, the streams, the cliffs, and the sky.

Soon he stopped in a clearing into which little sunbeams poured light like golden waterfalls into his eyes, and nearly blinded him before his eyes quickly adjusted to the brightness of day. Already it was evident that he had been here many times before; the ground had begun to flatten under his paws, and a wide indent lay on its edges in the shape of a circle where it had been made many times before. Despite its already existing, he painstakingly drew it once again, using an entire white paw dragged backwards through the soil, and lamenting in his heart of hearts how the small preparation marred his beauty. But soon he had finished, and could quickly groom himself before he presented his offering. He stepped into the circle and sat in its centre, placing the crow before him, and, chanting silently a prayer to the wood-goddess, and for the spirit of his sacrifice, turned his face to the trees before him. When he had finished, the tom closed his sunny eyes in meditation. At length, however, a rustling beside him roused the cat from his trancelike state, and to his feet. Someone had come.

"Éalá," he called. "Hwa eart þu?*"



*translation: Hello, who are you?

as dark as the winter
as black as her grim mask of death
as cold as her sorrow
ivory tears

[}xx.£eaƒm∞n , ,]

I'll be your butterfly, I'll be anything you need
Just promise you'll stay by me, and never let me bleed;

The forests were showing there was a little bit more light up ahead, a brighter area to the north that at least seemed less suppressive than the rest of the still, dim tress. A pale figure padded through the undergrowth and between the trees, making low and strange noises in her throat. The vibrations seemed to be a cross between a growl and a purr, though Trixie thought she was singing, like she had heard some hindleggers do. Of course, whether she was thinking right now at all was debatable; blue-green eyes were entranced and butterfly wings were held rather high off her back, moving just enough to avoid being snagged on branches as predicted by her whiskers. "Mrrrr, forest is looking bright today, nyes, pretty snow, oh so pretty," the she-cat burbled to herself, spying a few windblown snowflakes fluttering down to settle on the needles. A pastel blue snout raised in the air to catch one, before the rest of the face made a grimace at the cold temperate. Making a puzzled expression at the falling flakes, Trixie continued on towards what she believed to be a clearing.

The sun grew brighter, making her pupils shrink, the pink and blue feline sniffing here and there for signs of prey or company. She had often wandered here before, but didn't really expect to find anyone out here. Usually she passed through on the way to an extra den she kept in the area, which tempted her now with the somewhat chill breeze. Carelessly, she stepped on a crackly twig, which rather delighted the strange one, so Trixie patted it a few more times just to hear the crunching sound. Her amusement was interrupted by a voice up ahead. "Éalá, hwa eart þu?" The sudden and loud call spooked her slightly, ears perking up and fur bristling a bit, great papery wings snapping out as a reflex to flee. Her frozen stance relaxed after a few moments, seeing it was merely a lone cat, and with a fine catch, too.

"Ooooh, Trixie did not see you there, no, but Trixie is happy to see you, yes yes yes! Trixie wonders what you said, Trixie baaad at listening sometimes, mrr hurr hurr. What is stranger boy doing here? Does he bring a treat for Trixie? Ooooh Trixie would much like one, Trixie is hungry on this cold day!" she rambled out in reply, her voice rising and falling with unneeded inflections. The blue-swirled female quickly trotted over to the patched tom, wings folding back into place neatly and tail raised high in greeting. She sniffed at the crow cautiously and batted at it a bit, before trotting a circle or two around the tom and stopping to jabber some more. "Pretty boy, pretty boy, Trixie thinks. Does he think Trixie is pretty? Yes, of course, Trixie is quite pretty, maybe not to everyone, but to Triiiiiixie she is!" Then, as if completely forgetting anything she just said, the feline sat down and began grooming some of her chest fur, stopping and giving a very confused and wary face to the tom. "Does Trixie know you? Trixie can forget," she miaowed with genuine remorse, watching for a reaction with big, almost crossed eyes.

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[bambi.]

as dark as the winter
as black as her ghastly veil
as cold as her whisper
and chilling gown

The tom watched the stranger enter the sacred clearing with eyes of caution, striving to persuade himself that she was no danger. Had she been, she would have been much stealthier, or skilled enough in discipline to stop the chattering stream that fell from her mouth and over his ears, or wise enough to withhold the things she had said from him until later. The other part of him, fearful, timid, noticed first the mighty gifts which she had been bequeathed by, as far as he knew, the gods: antlers great enough to impale prey, wings which could no doubt carry her upon the silenced wind for a time, or strike heavy blows if one came too close. In silence he thus strove with himself as she approached muttering her nonsense, turning around to face her direction and returning the friendly raise of his tail, but never leaving the side of the creature he had killed, afraid that the spiritess of the wood would weaken without the offering and thus blight all of the forest with poor health, even death.

He found soon enough that there was no room in her soliloquy for him to speak, though much did he desire to answer her questions, and to correct the assumptions she had made upon the sight of him. His ears, earlier flattened in bliss as he had silently made communion with the spirits of the earth and sky, now took a turn upward in surprise as she stepped too close to him for his liking, and then backward as gentle surprise flowed into white currents of alarm; though he had now decided she meant no harm, it would be impossible to trust her with the sacrifice; she might eat it, under the false impression he had taken such a dangerous leap from a branch that high for his own sake. It was a feat, he believed, worthy of the goddess, and he must interrupt her, correct her. Quietly, burning to speak, yet unable to find an opening in the river of thought pouring from her mouth, he waited and watched.

As he did, she proved more fickle than a dragonfly. The instant she had asked his opinion of her (he could not say; in his eyes all nature's gifts were beautiful), something in her expression tensed. He did not quite understand. Perhaps the two were like-minded after all, unwilling to immediately trust. Perhaps she really was insane, as he had suspected once he had decided she would not attack. But that did not make them friends. On the contrary, he had halfheartedly edged away, not sure whether to take up conversation or to flee, and begin his ceremony again. Words left his mouth almost before he could remember that she could not speak two tongues as he could, and he found himself translating mid-sentence:

"Éalá Trixie. Ic háte--I am called--Hawthorne. Mín--" he shook his head roughly, "my kill is not my kill, nor a treat. It is a gift to the spirit of these woods, who lives in the clearing here. I was speaking," here he briefly wondered if that was the right word, dismayed that his time alone had already worn away some of his birth tongue, "to her when you came. Would you like to join me for a while?" The latter question was more from his innate courtesy and respect for the creature before him than any sense of trust; he knew better than any that it could never come to him. Frankly, he felt the deepest connections to the world through solitary rites, though many of the ones his mother had taught him required many cats. He had not performed them since he had gone to live with humans; suddenly Hawthorne found himself missing his sisters.

as dark as the winter
as black as her grim mask of death
as cold as her sorrow
ivory tears

[}xx.£eaƒm∞n , ,]

I'll be your butterfly, I'll be anything you need
Just promise you'll stay by me, and never let me bleed;

Bright blue-green eyes focused upon the speaking patched male, darting to either side whenever some movement (real or imagined) was spotted. The pink feline tilted her head far to the left with a quizzical expression, her neck nearly bent at a ninety degree angle as her unsteady pupils paid surprisingly close attention to the words flowing richly from the mouth of the stranger. Her expression scrunched a bit when he said the crow was not a treat, but softened at the idea of an offering to a spiritess of the woods; Trixie glanced around in all directions suddenly, as though suspecting the spirit to appear that very second. A touch of fear spread in her mind, wondering if she had insulted the deity for thinking the meal to belong to her and not the guardian of the forests, but she shook it away when a question was spoken.

Trixie slowly raised her head to a normal position when she realized it was her turn to talk, though her tongue couldn't seem to move. The fairy cat sat down to think, kneading her paws a bit in thought, trying to remember the last time anyone showed a bit of interest in her company. With a true moment of sadness, the feline realized she could not remember, but quickly resolved to make these minutes of socializing memorable. Who could know; perhaps they'd become regular acquaintances, or even something along the lines of friends. Even the nutty she-cat had to scoff at that one, for it seemed friendship didn't come easy to anyone these days. With a quick snap of her head, Trixie faced the male again, visibly brighter and more enthusiastic.

"You, you you mean Trixie can stay? Trixie does not bother? Trixie can. Trixie tries not to, but Trixie see so few fellows and the few she sees, they so mean ooooh so mean. Mrrrr, Trixie can talk lots, she can," the pink and blue feline miaowed, shifting her wings into a more comfortable position and tilting her head a little to study the male for a moment. "Trixie won't eat the treat, no, forest mama needs it yes, Trixie doesn't want to anger," she added, glancing fearfully around the clearing for a moment, relaxing when no vengeful apparition appeared. "Does Hawthorne live here, Trixie wonders? Trixie has not seen pretty boy before, no," she added with a playful tone, deciding he didn't look too vicious for a lone cat.

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[bambi.]

as dark as the winter
as black as her ghastly veil
as cold as her whisper
and chilling gown

Hawthorne noted with great discomfort, as he watched the movements of Trixie's rather spectacularly blessed body, the great number of questions which the stranger put to him, however lacking in forethought or control they might be. Nor howsoever flattering they may have been--a warm glow spread from his nose through his ears to the end of his tail the instant the word pretty, directed at him, had registered in the astoundingly large portion of his brain devoted to vanity. Her mad prattle gave him better reason to remain silent than to answer, beyond his willingness to invite the creature to share in his sacrifice of the great bird before him. Its spirit, he knew, would fly on the wind, and in the clouds, and through the mighty boughs above--he could not be so sure for the wood-goddess, whose favour he feared might wane if the molly before him did not still her tongue soon.

The tom, on another hand, felt he could not abandon the intelligence granted him from birth for madness of the sort that takes all timid things and blinds them to sense. Despite the clear insanity that had taken root and spread into a forest in her soul, she spoke vaguely and sadly of her past meetings with others, mentioning not even a name. A shred of clarity must remain, then, if she could keep well enough to herself. Perhaps he would not be notable when next she spoke to any creature--oh, but he would. He could trust her only to have a loose tongue, unbound by any notion of secrecy, and to be the first in so long to show her a moment's kindness would without doubt earn him some great standing in her memory. He must therefore answer with caution--not lies, for the thought of falsehood was cruel--and the quickness with which she had taken to his understanding of Nature pleased him. But oh, how difficult would it be to keep his patience with her chatter, should they meet again?

He spoke. "Do not be afraid. You may stay--but you must stay silent here, for silence here is the will of the spirits who dwell in the wood, and therefore sacred." Here he took a breath, and nudged the offering closer to the great pine, so as not to tempt either of them to devour it. A friendly, if wary, light settled in his eyes, and he gestured to a place next to his own for his visitor to take a seat. Without waiting for Trixie, a visible change came over Hawthorne as he returned to his state of inner quiet again: his muscles relaxed palpably, and he became still as a standing stone, listening to the sound of the rimy wind in evergreen needles that fell like hay to the earth; to the undergrowth as it moved with the life of a hundred tiny creatures; to the war cries of birds as they sang to ward off their enemies; to a little stream that whispered behind them with the voices of the stones it passed over; remembering the morning chorus as they had greeted the rising sun. At length he answered her final question: "I am a wanderer."

as dark as the winter
as black as her grim mask of death
as cold as her sorrow
ivory tears

[}xx.£eaƒm∞n , ,]

I'll be your butterfly, I'll be anything you need
Just promise you'll stay by me, and never let me bleed;

Big eyes grew bigger when the feline heard that silence, silence of all things, was considered sacred by the spirits that watched over these woods... perhaps watching her right now. Trixie parted her jaws to object or at least question why, but she decided it would be better to stay quiet. Wary glances shot around the clearing, wondering if a spirit would materialize to bring about a scolding if she didn't obey. She had heard vaguely of spirits and other deities before, but had never stumbled upon a realm in which they might be presently standing guard. The thought rather overwhelmed the pink feline, which made her draw closer to the male, as though he could protect her from any repercussions by using his great faith in the forest keepers.

Her tongue couldn't resist asking at least one question after some time though, and Trixie turned to voice it, but only to find Hawthorne had become wooden in stature, as though his spirit had left his pelt to converse with that of the land's. A fascinated horror registered in her mind, and she leaned close, relaxing when she saw he was still breathing, a statement flowing from his throat. The fairy cat rolled this over in her mind, eyes focusing on the movements of insects on the forest floor as she processed his answer. So another wanderer, loner, homeless one, whatever the word was, just like her. She decided it suited him, giving him an image of a traveling shaman or wise-man, though he didn't appear very old. "Trixie wanders too, follows the foods and warm beds and company, yes. Trixie likes the whole world too much to stay in just one place, lots of pretty choices..." she trailed off, not wanting to talk too much and scare off this kindred soul that at least tolerated her presence. Blue tipped tail curled around her dainty paws, narrow face leaning far to the left to observe the male and his ceremony.

A few moments of silence stood before Trixie decided to speak again. "Is there only a forest mama, and only here, or are there... more?" she asked delicately, not wanting to insult the forest spirit if they were the divine and only ruler, but she was still curious to whether other spirits existed. The idea both captivated and intimidated the pink and blue feline, whose eyes crossed for a moment when a moth fluttered in front of her face. Warily, she added, "Is Hawthorne a spirit guide? A messenger? A ghost? Or a voodoo shaman like the Cult kitties?" She figured if he had wanted to enchant her, he probably would have already, but she still wanted to ask. The purple tinted male had unknowingly sprouted a keen interest in such ideas as these, and Trixie intended to learn more if she could. If not, if she was instead told to find a different forest while he carried out his rituals in peace, she would still wonder endlessly on the subject and seek more about it. The tilted head snapped straight again at the sudden cry of a crow, and Trixie wondered if it was a sign from the spirits, blue-green eyes widening with this new obsession she had found.

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