polaroids of polar bears.
#1
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Sorry for all the random backstory. I had to get THE STORY OF TUMBLETY all...done, and your thread was perfect somehow. BUT. Now he is building his beautiful tomorrow and Nayru can come along all 'I CAN MAKE THIS PRETTIER.' Or something.

WC: 1107

A small amount of time had passed since Rynnas had spoken to his sister in law. And even though it wasn't much, the male felt as though he'd made a bit progress emotionally. He was still incapable of bringing himself to entering the tree house, but progress was progress. Besides, he was working hard on getting there. In the mean time, the massive male had many things to keep his mind occupied. First and foremost, there was Tumblety. This little interesting development had been a great surprise and quickly turned into the greatest part of Rynnas' day. It happened less than a week ago. The male had been reading beneath one of the house's support trees, leaning carefully against the trunk. He liked to feel the cool bark against his back as it held him up. It was comforting in a therapeutic way, but the closest he could get to actually entering the home. And it had taken him a long time to bring himself to do even this.

As he lay in the shade, he felt the outside world slip away as he lost himself in the world his novel offered him. He read the words quickly, still retaining every meaning. Patterns of shadow leaves danced across the page, dark and colourless in contrast to the bonfires above him – all the trees looked as if they'd been set aflame just as autumn set in. He enjoyed gazing at the colours, but for the time being the book in his hands had his entire attention. That is, until a small little figure fell into his lap with a startled squeak. Rynnas gave a small huff of surprised and set his book aside quickly before gazing with detached interest at what had interrupted solitude.

It was a tiny little bat- flapping helplessly in his lap. He was immediately that the little guy was injured. Rynnas' gaze turned upward as he looked for where the creature could have come from. The answer was obvious – they were right below a window of the house. The little bat must have been taking advantage of the vacated home. Which was interesting, because he had thought bats lived in colonies, sort of giant packs. As the bat struggled on the ground, he figured it was about a year or so, at the age when most animals strike out on their own. Perhaps the little fellow was trying to make it by himself. Rynnas frowned as he considered this, deciding that the bat hadn't done so well. It also meant that there was no mother he could return him to.

He was ashamed to admit that his first decision was to just leave the bat there. Go find something to do for a while and hopefully when he got back the bat would either be dead or gone. But as he gazed down at the flying mammal, he watched as it flipped itself onto its stomach and moved to seek the shadow Rynnas' body created. Its sides heaved with exertion and pain, bleeding wing tucked carefully against its side. That decided him. With a sigh, the gentle behemoth scooped the injured animal into his hands and set about fixing it. He couldn't stand looking at something so helpless. The bat reminded him of himself, only it had something he could fix.
Soon enough Rynnas' book lay forgotten in the grass where he'd left it, and the large male was preoccupied with fixing up the little guy's wing. The bat even had a name – Tumblety, in honor of how he fell into Rynnas' life. He was no bat expert (a trip to the old Acadia University library would fix that) but Rynnas was pretty certain that Tumblety was a male, a result of his examination. After a while Tumblety was sleeping comfortably, in a crate filled with blankets. Rynnas had crushed a few berries known to have healing properties and covered the wound, laying Tumblety's wing flat. He'd even fed the hungry animal by catching a few insects with a net he'd found in one of Eli's sheds. While the bat slept, Rynnas sat himself beside the crate, keeping a careful watch on his new ward.

That was less than a week ago. Tumblety was still around, still healing. But he was a lot more verbal (as verbal as a bat's almost silent squeaks could be) and mobile. Rynnas had had to construct a sort of cage for his new friend. Not to keep him, but to prevent the bat from using his wings too early. Tumblety didn't seem to mind though, what with the constant supply of juicy insects and Rynnas' helpful presence. And if Rynnas had thought he'd regret taking in the injured animal, he was greatly mistaken. He found he loved spending time with the little guy, feeding, changing the dressing on his wound and talking to him. Little Tumblety didn't say much in return, but Rynnas knew that he was listening. He could tell by the way the bat would turn its tiny head in his direction. And even if he didn't reply, he was still great company. Talking was therapeutic, something Rynnas needed greatly.

So as he worked, he talked. About all sorts of things. The weather, what was for dinner, what he'd read in the several books about bats he'd found in the library – everything, it seemed. Tumblety would lend and ear as he rested in his cage, rustling and squeaking every once in a while in response. Rynnas was deeply thankful he had found such a friend, otherwise he would would be grim. He was currently constructing another house. He'd drawn up plans a few days ago and was starting the actual construction now. It was going to be large, filling in most of the clearing and it was going to sit just about at the base of Eli and Kol's old house. Because he hadn't been able to bring himself to move into the tree house, Rynnas figured he would build his own and then one day when he was ready to enter the place of memories, he'd just attach the two dwellings. All he'd need to do is construct a ladder or perhaps a steep set of stairs. For now though, the house would remain unentered by him and he'd put all his energy on the one on the ground.

He moved at a swift pace, moving between the building site, the table and the shed. His plans sat on the table next to Tumblety's cage, weighted down by a few rocks. Wood was scattered about the clearing in organized piles as well as his tool boxes. As he worked, he was surprised to find himself relatively cheerful, even capable of humming a tune as he worked. The sound was a little unsure, muffled by the pencil he held between his teeth, but it was a happy enough sound. It looked as if things were finally looking up.

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#2
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PSSH. A. your table is hard for me to read. B. I didn’t read want to read about stupid TUMBUM anyway. C. Nayru is going to eat him. Enjoy! 661.


The green house had come together splendidly. At the east end of Dahlia de Mai it was secluded and only Gideon often came to the garden. Others came and went, but their own homes were clustered in Wolfville and St. Pepins and so Nayru felt very much separated when she retired at the end of the day. Rather than feel any loneliness she relished in this seclusion, and took it upon herself to patrol the eastern borders once in the morning and once at night, scouting for scents of strangers and keeping the homeland secure. Or at least that is what she told Conor and Bris was one of her reasons for wishing to live so far off. Yet it was so much more. In the garden at night, when the others were wherever they were, she had time and space to think, without the overbearing energy of Dahlia and its members pressing in on her. Still she felt their electricity buzz about their beings, and to her the energy they emitted was so palpable she sometimes wondered why she couldn’t see it. And still her own being sucked it in, which could be wearisome, but in the garden, and especially the greenhouse, she was alone. Just her energy. And it was glorious.


Nightly she read from the encyclopedia of plants and by day she had begun to gather specimens she found interesting, lining her green house with the plants and praying that they could last the winter in her glass house. Some she lost early, but some took root and thrived and every morning more plants were sprouting and growing and aside from the small dog house she had built her home was filled with flora. If Saluce wished to train that day, and he did many days, she ignored the plants, for they were merely a hobby, and a secret one at that. No one knew of her book or her plants, and she saw no reason to devote herself to them. Becoming a warrior was her main reason of being, the only feasible way she saw to serve Dahlia. That and patrolling the eastern border. Hopefully for now that was enough, but some day she could do more. Yet as it was her days were filled and less and less she saw the friendly faces of Gideon or Bris, and Conor she saw only to keep him informed of her doings.


It was lucky that day that Saluce had not called for her and the plants were healthy and her run through the borders proved that everything was as it should. For the first time in weeks the black splotched fairy found herself with nothing to do, and so she gravitated towards Wolfville, her steps light and silent and her gait slow. Every movement Nayru performed seem graceful and with purpose, and it was in this fashion, slow and solemn, she came upon the strange male and the caged bat. His back was to her and her steps had been so light she doubted he had heard her come up from behind, and so for a long moment she simply stood, watching him, crimson eyes alert and glittering.


The tree house that had stood vacant for as long as she knew towered above them, and beneath was a new construction, presumably of this man’s doing. He bent over his work, and hummed to himself. The tune was not unpleasant and Nayru smiled to herself, endeared by the private doings of the stranger and thinking how when by herself and sure no one watched she sometimes danced. And sang. Finally, she spoke, her melodic tones soft but clear, her voice at its usual volume of barely above a whisper. But surely he was not so wrapped up in his work he could not hear? ”Excuse me sir.” On two slender legs she stood, her hands clasped neatly before her, and ruby eyes wistful, waiting for him to turn about.


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