@estarossa-will-rule
Something is here. The air is different, changed, its flavor sharp, the color altered. The livestock in the village are agitated and the people speak with hushed voices. But when a strange cloud moves overhead, at a speed no cloud could move, Gelda knows it is more than nerves.
She begins the walk back towards her home—what was her home, but not anymore—feeling a pull she cannot explain. The air grows colder as the sun moves through the afternoon, a pit of dread forming in her stomach. She knows what she will see when she reaches Edinburgh: overgrown brush, piles of demolished rock, the road cracked and crumbled. That is, until you arrive at what used to be the castle.
Gelda refuses to think about that. For now the mystery of who or what has disturbed her now-quiet life and taken root in a haunted place keeps her feet moving. Her heart pounds as she walks, so many memories demanding a place in her mind and heart. But she remains steadfast in her goal, ignoring the sinking of her stomach once the top of the rise comes closer and closer.
She reaches the top, then stops, eyes wide and mouth gaping. Laying against a tree is nearly the tallest man she has ever seen—but he’s not a man. At least, not human. Immediately she recognizes the style of coat he wears, the layers woven on his armored boots and gauntlets. His eyes are closed, bangs sweeping over his face, but underneath she can just make out the inky swirl that nearly stops her heart.
For a moment, she stands poised to fly at him, wake him up with pounding fists and demanding he give his name, where he comes from, who are you, do you know what happened, do you know where they are—
But that’s folly, impossible, because Gelda isn’t supposed to be here either.
