It wasn't that she expected Tristan to follow her every move, that would be strange, but before she reached the top of the crater's ridge she turned to see what Tristan was doing. In his hand sat two flowers, and four sat on the ground in full bloom. She blinked at the impossibility of one now four, but two sat in Tristan's hands, where did they come from.
The wolves at the top of the other side were dancing back and forth. The magic in this place was encompassing everyone, and the flowers were the least of their discoveries. "Tristan..." She called his name, but she had no words for what was happening. Nothing to say, her mouth unable to form words as her mind raced with thousands of images from the surrounding wolves and her own thoughts.
"Hercules told of the deeds, The fertile serpent that sprang forth again from the fruitful wound, grown rich from her own hurt." Sierra muttered. It had been in a book she once read. She'd done a lot of reading back in her youth when only metal walls encapsulated her life. She'd never thought most of it would spring forth any knowledge.
Sierra walked back down and put her hand on Tristan's arm and pulled gentle away from the flower. "Maybe you shouldn't do that." There didn't seem to be any danger. But danger came from all sorts of directions, and pretty magical flowers could be no different. "What if next time it comes back like a venus fly trap and eats us." It was a joke, but the magic was heavy on this place. And even the wolves stayed away. That was warning enough for Sierra.
[[ quote from Ovid, Heroides 9. 87 ff (trans. Showerman) (Roman poetry C1st B.C. to C1st A.D.) found at https://www.theoi.com/Ther/DrakonHydra.html ]]
The wolves at the top of the other side were dancing back and forth. The magic in this place was encompassing everyone, and the flowers were the least of their discoveries. "Tristan..." She called his name, but she had no words for what was happening. Nothing to say, her mouth unable to form words as her mind raced with thousands of images from the surrounding wolves and her own thoughts.
"Hercules told of the deeds, The fertile serpent that sprang forth again from the fruitful wound, grown rich from her own hurt." Sierra muttered. It had been in a book she once read. She'd done a lot of reading back in her youth when only metal walls encapsulated her life. She'd never thought most of it would spring forth any knowledge.
Sierra walked back down and put her hand on Tristan's arm and pulled gentle away from the flower. "Maybe you shouldn't do that." There didn't seem to be any danger. But danger came from all sorts of directions, and pretty magical flowers could be no different. "What if next time it comes back like a venus fly trap and eats us." It was a joke, but the magic was heavy on this place. And even the wolves stayed away. That was warning enough for Sierra.
[[ quote from Ovid, Heroides 9. 87 ff (trans. Showerman) (Roman poetry C1st B.C. to C1st A.D.) found at https://www.theoi.com/Ther/DrakonHydra.html ]]