Innocence was nothing; intangible and long left to wither to dust in her cavernous mind. Reality was an elaborate dream and nothing more. Even Fate, in which the woman had held so worth its salt, was a fleeting image.

Memories ebbed and flowed like a petulant tide, giving a glimmer of understanding before wrenching it back into the sway. Time had lost all meaning. Suns passed, fortnights misled, cast away, forgotten.

Once upon a dream, past had been corporeal, though now it was like looking through panes of pauper’s glass. Shadowed. Form without function.

Under the dark satin heavens, peppered with cold fire, nothing came back into perspective. There had been a time, perhaps, when she had been able to find solace in the silver-flecked skyline. Tonight, however, it lay silent. Even the whispering of the wind through the trees was lost to her lax, untutored ears.

‘Open your eyes.’

Indolent lashes met and parted languidly, opaque sapphire eyes skimming the horizon. Nothing extravagant graced the blank spaces that had been keeping her attention all through the cool hours of the morning and a delicate sort of simper tugged at the side of her full lips. Nature’s idle prattle had seeped a league or so deeper, penetrating her senses.

‘You are lost, child. Lost.’

A resonance like that of a brass chapel bell rung in her ears. Lost. The word hissed like a hot coal in her belly, set to forge her. Force her to prove her mettle. Serna squirmed, spine snaking to stave off the ghosting of wind over exposed flesh. Even the accord of night had changed.

Silhouetted by pallid starlight, a single, tawny palm pressed its outline against the heavens. In quiet repose, the woman regarded the delicate bone structure against the starkly vacant patch of sky. A silver of pewter danced at the tip of her thumb, the waning goddess making her evening trudge back below the rim of the world. Moments passed into the ages, muscles set to twitching and with a yielding reluctance, the hand slipped again to her side.

Just beyond the reach of those nimble fingers lay something inconceivable. The truth. Polished alabaster nails gleamed in the sparse, parchment yellow glow of moon light as her attentions again returned to her palm. Minute furrows and gullies littered the brushed almond flesh, traced over by a single, tepid fingertip. All the maps and atlases needed to carve a line to your Fate and Serna was blind to it. Looking into a mirror, a body could only glean so much about themselves. Again, that empty hand dropped.

A single line of fire rippled along the skyline, morning pressing from the womb of darkness. Dawn had begun its ascent, casting canary colors against the horizon. Vermillion, saffron, and brassy jade painted the gloaming inky palette. Wider and wider it spread, like the wing of some immense tropical avian, until it reached its zenith. On the back of the sunrise came tender warmth, propagating and soaking the earth.

Again, time had been mislaid. Another transition passed under those scrupulous cerulean eyes, gone unnoticed, uncaring. There was something that was meant to capture in the passing from evening into day, something meant to raise a spark from her flint sharp mind. Her failure shone with the incandescence of dawn.

Ire twisted daintily refined features into a bitter mask, neck pivoting painfully to arc back and follow the bleary line of escaping dark. Superstition marked her, and the woman spat to her left, making doubly sure to sidestep the gobbet as she finally gathered her wits and her feet beneath her.

Eventide would come dutifully as it did each day and now there was nothing left to do but milk her pipe dreams.

(Woah Nice Post)

Arthur very rarely came near these woods anymore they had to much memory, to mutch pain. He had tiems here past in which he had done things, creatures slain, blood spilled. Hate, venegence, death all plagued him as he sat beneath an oak tree meiditating. Arthur chose to remember them as he always did, this was a tiem for such remembernces this was the time where it all had started seven years ago.

The capture of his father till the time of his first slaying. Now though Arthur was mourning, remembering those past. Remebering the old rule of dragons. Life is the future, not the past. The past can teach you, through experience, how to accomplish things in the future, comfort you with cherished memories, and provide the foundation of what has already been accomplished. But only the future holds life. To live in the past is to embrace what is dead. To live life to its fullest, each day must be created anew. As rational, thinking beings we must use our intellect, not a blind devotion to what has come before, to make rational choices.

Once that was done he rose and went off and soon he came upon a strange smell. He recognized it, it was shapeshifter. Curious he went in the direction. He soon came upon a girl seemingly laying on the ground as if asleep. He transformed into his human sate and said," Not wise to sleep out in the open mam, to much danger in this wood".

((Thanks much! She wasn't laying down, though, or sleeping. Just wandering. She's got sleeping disorders...so no sleepy for her. -wink- ))

Gnarled fingers scraped bitterly at the skyline, wooden limbs reaching in vain. Twisted and bent like the back of a geriatric crone, the trees were starkly stunted from the capacious winds that tore through the wasted grasslands. A fleshy palm rested on the brittle bark, fingernails peeling away the dead litter absently.

Transitions of night to day the woman hardly noticed, so turned inward was her flittering conscience. Voices, however, were another matter entirely. Clips of a foreign tongue assaulted her ears, the guttural volume taking more than a precious moment of propriety to work out the accent. Liquid grace spun her slowly around to face the noisome newcomer, tight muscles bunching like an ill mannered pard.

What a chattering, insolent tone. Castigating the woman for no breath of fault. Too long, perhaps, out of the company of others. Too long set adrift in the pool of her own Fate. Standing on ceremony or a call to save another’s snapped pride was none of her concern. Outlined in ochre and kohl, brittle sapphire eyes thinned to almond shaped slits as she regarded the man. Weight shifted softly from her heel to the ball of her foot, a languid sort of compliance shining in those delicately angled features.

“You waste your worry.” Cracked from disuse, her tone was low and pebbled, accent buried deep beneath grit.

Tongue flattened, whipping out to moisten dry lips, smoothing the cracks and gullies. Poised on the tips of bare feet buried deep in loamed, sandy soil, the woman swayed. Like a serpent her mannerisms were fluid, circumspect. Limber as a willow wand her spine seemed like to snap, taunt muscles pulling her apart from both ends. Neither fear nor caution was what stayed her twitching brawn but something far less substantial.

“No’ting ‘ere is dangerous, if you know how to keep yer’ feet.”

Years of sand polished out of her tone sent her lilting notes gleaming in different light. Flat and resonant as a silver chime despite the jostling sound the accent clipped it down to.

Idly her fingernails knit, half moons scarping the traveling mire from one another. A hushed tranquility passed as she watched the sepia-tinged flakes cascade to the ground, swallowed up by the decay of last season’s leaves.

( Oh sorry, its hard to tell, your writing is a little diffcult because its very good, I am not use to your style, its kind hard to undertsand but it is very good noen the less, reminds me of Robert Jordan)

Arthur smiled and watched the woman rise and turn to him. She was young so he was not suprised at her looks. Pretty though subtle but Arthur was not taken easliy by anything. He smiled when she spoke and chuckled lightly at her. He did not do it out of anything but amusement at himself more so than her. Still she seemed odd as if her voice was not used often and she was lost in a world of thought.

He met few like that they were interesting people but odd none the less. SHe moved oddly as if without effort but he had seen the like, he had never gotten use to that kind of movement. It was fluid and well to him that was odd. Dragons moved fluidly for sure but still there were diffrent types of fluid movement. Each was odd this one was even odder as if like some serpent. He said," True, but even danger can find the sure footed, even the most cautious can find themselves in danger"

HE smiled slightly and then said," Still one should not be out in the open, even if the dangers are far and few, you still must be wary, one can never be to over cautious" He paused a brief bit and then said," I just don't like to see people hurt, bad business that, people being hurt, don't like it".

(( Wow. o.0 Thanks for the compliment. Comparing me to Robert Jordan. I mean, wow. -huge grin- ))

Pewter storm clouds flittered across brittle-cut sapphire eyes, confusion marring the young woman’s features. Pencil thin and raven dark, brows knitted carefully along pale chestnut skin. Even the ginger tilting of her chin, tucking it closer to her chest in a manner that exuded wariness begot the feelings that roiled off her like a stench. Wariness.

It was an odd sentiment, dwelling on the pretense of another. Neither unfeeling nor callous, Serna was still ill at ease about the man’s actions. The concept was hard to catch hold on as a slippery elm branch. Worry for someone that meant nothing, less than nothing in the grand scheme of nature, was troublesome. Wasted thoughts. Idle prattle.

“You’re not threatenin’ me. So tell me…what’s all ‘dis worry for?”

Skepticism, the younger brother of mockery, dripped like spittle from her lips. The corner of her full lips twitched, desperately trying to fit into a beam. Smiles, however, were often ill suited to her features.

Leaf litter sang and hummed under the pressing arcs of her feet, ball and toes rolling in the rich, loamy earth. The rising heat of morning had stirred up the redolence of rot, the air impregnated with the scent of aged lichen and peat. Still she absently stirred the decomposing mess, watching the dew-laden leaves heavily slip over themselves; deceased acrobats.

“You’re not my keeper, jah?”

Cerulean eyes lifted from the litter, reflecting brassy jades as she regarded him. A soft blink broke the mirrored pools and shattered the frown that had tempered her lips. A tiny simper replaced it, a bare hint of amusement. He seemed nothing more than a child against the backdrop she barely remembered as the world. Though it was not her place to pass judgment. One who remembered little more than nothing set to research his naivety.

Perhaps they were birds of a feather cast into the arms of Fate. Dark lashes scooped towards the heavens as she yet again twisted that owl’s gaze to the sun. Perhaps not. Long a dreamer, a caster of dice, Serna wondered if she had ever truly believed what the Stars held for her was the truth. It was an absolute, unquestionable. Then let her be caste in a different mold, damned.

(Your welcome, dang you almost put Sarty to shame, and Sarty is the best we got, I just never posted with soomeone with a style like this)

Arthur eyed her observing her wondering at her. He kenw her for shape shifter but she seemed different than from the ones he met. They usually were more lively but he could understand. He had a hard life himself so he knew why someone would not be lively. He shrugged and said," Because of a promise I made, I once saw a woman hurt, I swore on the blood that ran through my veins that I would let myself see it again".

He stepped forward a bit more into the clearing and watching the area warily and said," I may not be your keeper mam, but I just like to make sure people are safe, its why I am in this world, to make sure that I can help people avoid harm, besides I just don't liek seeign woman hurt". HE shurrged and then said," By the way I am Arthur the Wandering Knight".

(Sorry its so short but I have to go to bed)

Promises made, promises broken. It hardly mattered in the end of all things, truth be told. Though it did make the woman ponderous. Had she ever made a promise? Lips fused, pursed together in repose, keeping track of her thoughts. Perhaps she had, and could now never discover what it was or could have been. Not a sentimental thought, more a relief. Binding your life to your words was hardly a good survival tactic with one so forgetful.

However, it did cause a deft winkle to form up the bridge of her smallish nose, those words that dripped so easily from his lips. Meaningful words, albeit candy-coated. His thinking to take pity on Serna was misplaced. Being female had nothing to do with the dangers the heavens could spit. A thin, rippling snort choked from her gullet. It was followed by a deftly sage shake of her head. Beads and hollow raven feathers clattered together in a monotone tune.

“Appreciated though unneeded.”

Like dry leaves skittering over a gravestone, her tone was low and unforgiving.

A twitch shuddered through her, a fleet ungulate ready to flee as the man took a step forward. In second thought, her muscles snapped rigid, waiting and regarding the man through filtered sapphire slits. Still, there could have been method in her madness. Keeping from humanity for so long had its perks, it seemed. Seldom having to blunder through social faux pas was worth its weight in gold to the level minded, after all.

Eons seemed to pass in half a moment though no more than a hand span of time was lost. It was reclaimed wisdom that rolled into her mind and fed her, kept her quiet in that moment of stillness. Muddled and brought upon the muddied, flightless wings of memory.

‘Silver tongues, after all, can taste nothing.’

A simper slid carefully onto those pursed lips, parting them. Though genuine, the gesture felt too generous and tainted. It would take years for it to become comfortable, though the woman could recall no reason why it should be so misplaced. Perhaps some tragedy lost in the adherent webbing of the run of life.

“Serna.”

Honey-sweet, the syllables stretched upon her tongue. So much a relief to hear it said, it half made her giddy. Seasons had passed without that word resonating in her ears and it felt good to have her identity returned to her. There was rightness to it. A virtue in the sound.

Arthur smiled when she said her name and stepped back a little after he had seen her brace herself he knew when not to get close. He had no need to harm anyone. HE said," Serna well it is indeed nice to meet you, I rarely meet shapesifters anymore, use to all the time back when I was in my early twenties". He shurgged idely and then looked at her again wondered at what she might be doing here again.

Still it was not his business and he would not get involved if she did not want him to. HE then said," Still it may have been uneccassary I just can't help it, we can only be who we are, no more no less as my father once said, and I was only beign who I am in making sure that you were in no danger".

(Sorry its late and short, Pm me if it doesn't make sense, I'll edit it when I can, but I have alot of work to catch up on)