Of magical wishing apples

Silvano Sadira · 05-20-2011, 01:30 AM

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300+
/vomits glitter and unicorns

Silvano flexed his hand, twisting it this way and that, feeling his wrist snap a bit as though the bones had grown back properly but roughly still. They cracked a little and he hoped there would be no problem shifting for him. What if his wrist snapped in a crucial moment? Like right before he was going to dodge out of a tree's way. Sighing, he retied the unnecessary bandage around his wrist, over his palm, and through his thumb and index finger. There was no reason to have it on anymore, as the wrist was healed and fully functional, but the youth liked to keep it on; it was more of a comfort thing than anything else to him now. He flexed his hand again, testing the flexibility of the wrap, and satisfied, he pinned it with a makeshift pin.

That was when he gazed out the first story window nearest him, spotting color darting around in the distance; he squinted slightly, wondering who it was. Few in the pack wore clothes and fewer still would probably have worn something so bright. Perhaps it was Mati? She was prone to clothes, wasn't she? Furrowing his brows, the youth left the manor, curiously watching the person in the distance, in the valley of flowers. Who was it? He did not want to startle whoever it was, so he came slowly, certain they'd see a mottled male tall above the wild grasses beneath his feet. Still he did not recognize her. Cocking his head, Silvano watched her move, hearing her voice reach his ears. He had to stop, surprise evident. Her voice was pretty but who was she? He did not know her. But nothing about her from the distance painted her a trespasser; she seemed too weak and innocent for that. From a distance, at least.

But then he saw her climb the tree, in a long dress, no less. That was just a recipe for disaster. So he ran, parting the grass before him recklessly, leaving a scythed trail behind him. She moved further along the branch, her dress trailing along the length of it, as though it were stuck on nubs in the wood. But her fingers fell short of the fruit, and she rose to standing and the Sadira picked up his pace. He himself had fallen plenty of times from trees; his wrist was proof enough. "Careful there!" he cried out, when he was within a scant thirty feet of the female. She seemed young, but pretty, and he saw the way the branched wobbled. It was a recipe that did not taste sweet as the song she had sung.

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