raise up the veil
The mists rose and swirled - crowing the tops of hills everywhere Orica turned her head. It was still an hour or so before dawn. The world, if it was lit at all, was lit by the halflight of a setting more and not yet rising run. The predators of the night had bundled away but no bird or mammal stirred to tear at the perfect stillness of the air. It seemed a sacriledge to think anyone ever could. A mistake to ever pray for dawn. The moors were something to be worshiped just as they were. And what there were was majesty.
The fae continued paw over paw, up the back of one of the larger hills - drawn by a force she as of yet, did not know. But she had felt the like of it before. In her travels, whether on her own, or with the nomad pack had that become her home, she learned to sense many such places- where forces of the natural and supernatural were heightened -calling to the weary, wandering, and the wise. Sometimes to all three. Orica supposed with a slight smile that she could count as all that. She'd traveled far enough in the past moons. Oh so many miles. But she could never pass up on the calling of a place such as this. She was told long ago that she had a gift. Something like foresense or foresight - an ability to see much more than should always be. It was something she'd fostered and flamed and thanked the gods for. And in her way, these pilgrimages to out of the way places - were a sign of gratitude. Whether there would be some message or something waiting for her - some herb to collect or just a place to be still in and give respect, she was happy to do it. It was her duty as a healer, not just of the body, but of the spirit. |