Creative Corner

@Cerastes
OOHHH CLOWN YES <3
I'm so happy for her ;w;
Maybe her final proving is getting her original form back???

@WillowWhisper - Thank you! It's taking me some time to get back in the swing of writing again, but I'll get there. And yes, she's really just an adorable teeny thing even though she doesn't know it, haha.

@KIMJA - Aww, thanks! I've added you :)

@Zexeos - Yeah, I've had clown in mind for a while, I think it suits her! And I do like that, we will see :)

@Stormsinger - Honestly, me too. Shrike has been needing a family...time will tell though, I think!

@PandragonsBox - wow, that's quite the undertaking, and I'm glad you enjoyed it! :) Adding you now!

@Cerastes Please add me to the ping list. You are an excellent writer!

@Silurian - Added, thanks so much! I think you flatter me, though! This is the 20th chapter, everyone - I'm shocked and terribly glad that you've all stuck with me this far! [center][b]Chapter 20: Hearth and Home[/b] @LagMonster @Khoshekh @Stormsinger @starslang @Scyras @excessnight @pensandink @Solaristigres @Nihilo @WillowWhisper @Averis @SolarPhoenix @RizuChan @ArgenteaMoon @Elzerei @eeeeel @tigressRising @hotdoge @Dragonfang @Whimzica @Soleil @Zexeos @windsway @Neige @KIMJA @rax @PandragonsBox @Silurian[/center] It was a sort of unspoken agreement: stay here and avoid each other. Shrike seemed quite angry at Chime, and Raust got the feeling that if she asked the spiral to leave, Chime would go without argument. It would serve the thrice-accursed dragon right, cast out into the frozen wasteland outside...but then again, Raust wasn’t sure what would become of him if that happened. Chime’s assurance that he was useful was all that kept him here, and without that...well, Shrike didn’t seem the type to suffer hangers-on. Yet despite the tension, there had been no talk of leaving. They’d all been exploring the newly discovered lair for the better part of the day. So far, Raust had found countless storerooms, a kitchen, a forge, and what he presumed had once been a library, although only moldering book spines remained, their innards long since rotted away. It was fascinating stuff – he had pulled out his scrap parchment and was taking meticulous notes as he went. There was enough here for a book. Maybe even several. The current chamber he was inspecting was quite grand, with walls, ceiling, and floor carved almost entirely out of shimmering blue ice. Rough benches lined the space before him, leading up to a low table, hewn from the ice as well. Raust carefully picked him way through the leaning benches, noting the wear on them, the deep paths tread into the floor. This room had been heavily frequented. “Now, what are [i]you?”[/i] he asked of the table, leaning closer to inspect it. It had obviously been something of import, intricately carved as it was. “Placed at the head of the room...[i]ah![/i] Are you an altar, maybe? And this a place of worship?” He looked out over the room again, mentally rearranging the disarrayed benches into neat rows. There was a pang as the thought of his lovely chapel flashed through his head, but he shook it away. Best not to dwell on it now. “Now, I wonder...” On the wall behind him, a tangle of arctic moss grew thick, taking advantage of the narrow shaft of sunlight coming from a gap in the rocks above. He set about tearing it away with his claws, though not without a wince, mindful of the fact that it represented perhaps centuries of growth. There were far from enough growing things in this frigid desert, and having to destroy any greenery was unfortunate indeed. Worth it, though. As the moss fell away, images started to emerge, carved lovingly from the basalt by long-ago claws. On the right stood what was unmistakably the Icewarden, imposing yet benevolent. On the left stood one of the most frightening depictions of the Flamecaller that Raust had ever seen, with lips drawn back in a snarl. Fire swirled around her, seeming to threaten the ice that surrounded the pair of them. “Oh, [i]interesting,”[/i] Raust hummed to himself. “Ice and fire, good and evil, heaven and hell...” Pulling out his parchment, he wrote: [i]Unusual dichotomy presented between the Icewarden and Flamecaller; closet modern analogy is that of nature and plague.”[/i] A sound behind him made him jump, charcoal pencil clattering to the floor. The fae was standing in the doorway, regarding him a little guiltily. “Oh! I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you. I was just wondering if you were hungry – Clementine and I were out hunting for a bit. Did you know that there’s a second entrance, past that old armory?” Raust blinked at her, taking a moment to process the disjointed information. “Ah. I was not aware. And yes, I could eat.” “Good. Clementine’s sorting it out down in the [i]kitchens.”[/i] She said the word with a hint of marvel, as if the idea of having a kitchen was totally foreign to her. Did they all live like savages this far south? “Thank you. Now, I should return to...ah.” He broke off in surprise as another creature edged in the doorway behind Shrike. It was a spindly thing, a vaguely deer-like creature with bone-thin legs and jagged antlers. It shivered its wings as he studied it, apparently nervous. “What...exactly is that?” “Oh!” Shrike brightened visibly as she turned to look at the strange animal. “This is my death’s-head. I thought I’d lost it, but I think it followed Clementine’s storm seekers back to us.” Raust nodded vaguely at this, trying to look like he had some idea of what she was talking about. The thing had fixed him with its unnerving white eyes; he wasn’t sure why anyone would voluntarily befriend something called a “deaths-head”, but the fae was an unusual dragon by all accounts. “Is it true you used to be a mirror?” he asked her. Perhaps a little blunt, but he had to figure out if Chime had, once again, dragged him away from a life for nothing. Shrike certainly didn’t act like most faes he knew – while she was still difficult to read, she didn’t speak with the emotionless buzzing he’d come to expect from the species. There was a certain savagery about her as well, an aggressiveness of movement that was unusual in one so small and delicate. Shrike cocked her head, fans fluttering. “Did Chime tell you that?” “Indeed.” “Well, yes. I used to run with a big mirror pack, actually, but...stuff happens.” “I see. Quite amazing that you survived.” He kept his tone casual, but tendrils of thought were growing, vines reaching and wrapping there and here to form a greater picture. Chime could very well be right...and he wondered how much, if anything, the strange fae was aware of. “Mmhmm,” Shrike replied, seemingly uncomfortable at his scrutiny. “Well. I’m going to get back down to the kitchens – feel free to come when you’re finished here.” And just like that she was gone, whisking away on her armored wings with the deaths-head following close behind. Raust turned back to the engravings, considering his options. The Icewarden and Flamecaller had been waiting here for centuries; surely they could wait a little longer. First, food. [center][img]http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-JUtDBTct_0Q/UQlPKIEt-KI/AAAAAAAALEQ/_G9dBj28G44/s1600/snowflake_divider.gif[/img][/center] Shrike had a bad headache. Maybe fae brains were small enough that you just couldn’t pack too many worries into them without something breaking. That’s certainly what it felt like, anyway. A few weeks ago, all she’d had to worry about was tracking down her old family while keeping herself and Clementine alive. It had seemed like a lot at the time, but looking back, she could appreciate the simplicity. Now she felt like some kind of dancing puppet, being pulled this way and that without seeing who was behind the strings. It was too much to think about, so she was focusing on the problems right in front of her. They’d had a stroke of luck in finding the old lair, which would give them shelter to rest for at least a few days. Food, though, was an issue, which is why she and Clementine had gone out hunting earlier. Chime had not been invited, as Shrike was far from forgiving her, and she doubted the priest had ever hunted a day in his life. Best not to have a repeat of Chime’s first hunting debacle, and besides, she didn’t know Raust well enough yet to fight alongside her. Her newly marked hide might have named them as a tenuous family, but that didn’t mean she trusted them. She was making her way down the winding tunnels to the kitchens, the deaths-head trotting along behind her like a faithful dog. It, at least, was a thing she could trust – not in its loyalty, but in its wildness. She could treat it like a pet all she wanted, but first and foremost it belonged to the tundra, and would follow the natural laws. Kill or be killed, eat or be eaten. Mirrors behaved similarly. Other dragons, though, were unfortunately a little harder to figure out. Here she was. Clementine had lit a fire in the kitchen’s brick oven, and the glow of it spilled out into the hallway in a comforting pool of golden light. Shrike paused outside the doorway and listened, hearing a tinkling laugh from up ahead. “I have no idea where it could have gone,” came a familiar voice, false-innocent. “You must have misplaced it. Very silly of you.” “Chime, I saw you take it. C’mon, I want to start cooking this!” “You saw me?” This came with a hint of pride. “Well! Very well done!” Chime and Clementine were laughing as though nothing had happened; the tundra forgave far too easily. Shrike would have to talk to her about that. Mouth set in a grim line, she thought about bursting into the kitchen, but something gave her pause. “Chime, can I ask you something?” Clementine was saying. Her tone had dropped a little in seriousness. “Of course, [i]chérie,[/i], what is it?” There was a moment of quiet, and then Shrike heard something clattering. “Whoops. I’ll get it. Anyway...Shrike’s proving. She said it had something to do with family.” “Yes. That is a common interpretation, anyway.” “Well, your stripes...you’ve never had a family, right? How’d you get them?” There was a pause, a sharp intake of breath. “How dare you assume that about me?” Her voice had dropped low, dangerous. Alarmed, Shrike turned the corner and stood in the doorway, but neither of them noticed her. Clementine stood frozen in surprise, holding a stirring spoon in her mouth, while Chime paced on a low countertop as she spoke. ”You think that just because I’m a thief, a...a low-grade criminal, that I’ve never had a family that I loved?” “I-I didn’t...” The spiral paused in her frenetic movement, head dropping. [i]“Désolé.[/i] That was wrong of me,” she continued in a softer voice. “You could not have known. You’re partway correct – I never knew my parents. I did have a mate, though, who I very much loved.” Clementine seemed to finally remember the spoon, and spat it out. “Would you...would you tell me about him?” she asked shyly. “Ah, Clementine...he was lovely. Very smart – we pulled heists together. Unstoppable, the pair of us. [i]Échelles comme le feu, bruns yeux comme—“[/i] “Chime.” “Oh, right. He was very handsome. But temporary are the fires that –“ The spiral broke off midway, seeming to notice Shrike’s presence in the doorway for the first time. “Ah. Hello. Well, Clementine, thank you for the lovely meal – a pleasant change, I would say. Someday you will be as skilled a chef as I, with some training.” She started to wend her way from the counter to the doorway, but Shrike put up a hand before she could pass. The spiral paused, not quite meeting her eyes. “Stay for a little,” Shrike heard herself saying, and was surprised even as the words left her mouth. [i]What? Do I really mean that?[/i] “I haven’t eaten yet. Just...stay and talk.” Any other time, Shrike might have assumed the story was further manipulation, warned Clementine away from the smooth-talking spiral. Maybe she still should. But there was something about the sleepy kitchen, firelit and filled with the scent of cooking food, that made everything feel temporarily all right. “Well, I am the ideal conversationalist,” Chime replied. The words were as cocky as always, but there was an uncharacteristic lack of certainty to them. Shrike beckoned to her as she made her way toward counter, on which rested several stone bowls of delicious-looking food. Shrike took one and sampled it, needing no prompting. “This is amazing. Clem, I had no idea you could cook.” The tundra positively beamed, her furry chest puffing up with pride. “Thanks! I had a lot of help from Chime.” [i]Haven’t we all,[/i] Shrike almost said, but this wasn’t a place for bitterness. “Well, however you two did it, it’s delicious.” There was a crash from behind her, and Shrike turned to see the skydancer guiltily stooping to pick up pieces of a shattered bowl. “My apologies, I didn’t see...” “Don’t worry, there are hundreds of those,” Clementine chirped, going to hand him another. “This is for you – Chime said you guys eat bugs and plants, right?” “Erm, yes.” He seemed a little taken aback, sniffing the offering carefully. “Thank you very much.” The tundra smiled at him, then went to go tend the remains of the fire. Shrike joined her, and they sat a while by the oven, watching the flames turn into a glowing bed of coals. “I like it here, Shrike,” Clementine said after a while. She looked like a piece of gold ore in the firelight, each glittering hair reflecting the glow. “I really like it. Can we stay?” “At least for a bit. Once I’m really back on my feet.” “No, I mean like [i]really[/i] stay. I know this place is huge, and weird, but it feels like it could be home.” Something stuttered in Shrike’s heart. She’d known she was home with the Polar Night – always, fully, they were family – but Clementine had never really belonged anywhere. But could they really [i]stay?[/i] “Clem...that’s not really how I’m used to doing things. Never stay in place too long, settle somewhere and hunt, then it’s on to the next...” “Shrike,” Chime began as she moved forward to join them, “you are aware that there’s not a mirror among us, correct?” Shrike opened her mouth to argue, but Chime cut off her before she could comment. “All right, sure, you’re a mirror at heart, but you cannot pretend that we in any way resemble a mirror pack.” Clementine’s brow was furrowed in confusion, and Shrike shot her a look. She’d explain later – it was long overdue. “With respect,” came Raust’s nasally voice, “there is much you do not yet understand. This is a good place – it’s well-fortified, and well-hidden.” All eyes were on her. Everything inside her rebelled: [i]don’t risk settling. Use this place and go. On to the next. On to the next.[/i] But it was warm here, and quiet, sheltered from the howling winter winds above. Maybe it was just a trick of the firelight, lulling her into a false sense of security, but she felt [i]safe[/i] here. It was a feeling she hadn’t had in a long time. Her pack was still out there, somewhere – and she would find them – but didn’t it make sense to have a home base? “Okay”, she said finally. “Okay. We’ll stay.”

@Cerastes
Ahhhh, this is great! (Especially since I had forgotten about this, and then changed my username... feels like a miracle I was pinged back to here. XD) Your writing is really engaging and your characters have such depth and pathos! I love it.

@Cerastes Soo cool I love the update!