BETTER PLACE / aine

[aine.]

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I'll come back when you call me

Aine recalls her father once saying a positive attitude could make a difference in recovery.  Laughter too, though he seemed more dubious on the matter; she rarely saw her father laugh after all.  Though her brows continued to crease, the vixen began to consider perhaps Trygve would be okay, if he maintained the upbeat attitude.

His confidence assured her.  Besides, if he was sick, she was right here to notice it.  As he brushed by her, she blinked, slowly beginning to smile again.  "... Okay."  Hard to argue with that sort of certainty.  Besides, a promise was a promise.

Though her hazel hues flickered about the rainforest for a moment, she quickly bounded after him.  Surrounded by flourishing plants, Aine felt more than at home.  Of course, she stuck close to Ry, realizing she may lose her way rather quickly if she lost sight of him.  She didn't know the paths like she knew the Pitt's jungle.  Even then.

Aine grinned as their destination came in sight, tropical flowers abundant.  Of course, ignorant of her own nearsightedness she started edging closer so she could actually see, surprised when Ry bumped into her.  She very nearly jumped, blinking in confusion.  What had driven him back so suddenly?

"Oh-"  Her breath caught.  Ever since the fire, leaving half the jungle burnt to a crisp, Aine only found butterflies in her garden and drifting around the surviving flowers.  She had never seen so many in one place.  Like a scene from a painting.  She wasn't entirely sure a painting could capture the rainbow of gently fluttering wings.  Her voice is soft in awe, "je les aime." The flowers.  The butterflies.

Distracted, the fae is bemused when she hears Trygve growl.  Butterflies made poor prey.  They floated so freely.  "I don't mind," she affirmed brightly, "I love butterflies."

"... Oh." While the myriad of colors did distract from the flowers, now left open to view, she hardly expected them to land on her friend.  Her eyes gleamed.  As they were fragile creatures, she never tried to hold one before.  Thus, they must come to you, or that was how she saw it.  "They like you, Ry!" Her giggles are happy and free, wondering if she waited or sat still one might fly to her as well.

— aine | the pitt | commodore of the crows | fae druid —