Rated M for open avenues of exploration, but this is likely to be one of my tamer ones.
The Wildhearted
Name: Every tree and stone, dell and stream, beast great and small, and the very blades of grass in his domain knows him by their own name, in their own voice.
To those Fae living nearest, his true title is 'First-To-Walk-Here', or simply 'Firstwalker'. In better times he was known by affectionate nicknames for the forms they saw him take, like 'Antlerprince', the Stag, 'Russetfur', the Red Wolf, 'Moontalker' the Horned Owl, and so many more.
But these days, he is more often called 'Lonelywander', 'Mourninghowl', or 'Losthart' on days where his sadness can be felt from the wood, and not spoken off at all when instead it is his wroth that permeates the air.
But there is one name that is two he was given by one so dear, to which he might gladly answer. Hart and Heart, Heart and Hart, pronounced the same, but for the meaning behind it.
Appearance:Many and more, he can walk in the form of any dweller of the natural world, and more besides, in endless combination. Even when he adopts a faelike form, evidence of his true nature shows itself in feathers, antlers, fur and fangs. His face is regal when flattered, severe when insulted. His smiles beam like the morning sun, his frowns a starless void.
His most favored guises are those of a large stag,possessed of the most majestic rack of antlers for a crown curving high over his brow, a large red-furred wolf possessed of fleet foot and sharp fang, and a great owl cloaked in golden-tipped feathers.
Bio: Despite his moniker, Hart was not the very first spirit to roam this part of the Faewild, but the latest in a long line, finding himself waking to life in the bole of the great knotted oak that his predecessor, his spiritual 'mother' took for her final shape before giving up intelligence to return to nature.
The first years, decades, centuries, perhaps, for he had no means to mark the time but the changing of the seasons and the growth of the trees, passed without issue. He was not truly alone, for every plant and animal, stone and stream knew him by their own names, and he knew them as well, and for a time was content, ruling over his woodland realm, it's sole thinking inhabitant.
Then came the Fae, the Moon Godess' second-born children, woven in her image of pale beauty. It took them a long, long time to come upon his place, and at first he saw them intruders and fled them when he was feeling preyish and feasted on them when feeling predatory, and half of them feared him and the other half were in awe of him. Those in awe won out, and they approached him cautiously, with lavish gifts and joyous songs, asking his wants and needs, that they may coexist.
But what does such a spirit need that the wood does not yield up freely? The answer was companionship, for while he could run with the wolves, swim with the fish, and fly with the flock, animals are simple creatures and Hart a thinking being.
At first the arrangement was more tributary and inconsistent, a daughter or son yielded up every so often. Few lasted long, for the deep wilds are full of dangers, and the Fae are a fragile folk. Boys roused less protective feelings in him, for the buck cherishes the doe but spurns others with antlers, so it soon came to be only girls, and then only girls trained in the godess' gift of magic, blessed in voice and touch to soothe the beast, and even command him in time of need, to save them from flood and fire and later mud-born humans that might do them harm.
Thus the role of companion to the Wildhearted came to be sole province of priestesses, trained and blessed. The last in that line, in this place, was Adelina. Ah, Adelina of silver hair, spun from the goddesses own moonlight, with laughing eyes the verdant green of fresh-grown moss, whose voice was honey-sweet, who's laugh could bring joy to even the ornery badger, who's easy affection stole the very heart of the Wildhearted. Who gave him his cherished name. And then she left him.
Where has she gone? For months he searched every glen and dell of his domain and found no trace, after that he simply brooded, and raged, and cried, and mourned, and still the fae are silent. Who might they send to replace the irreplaceable?
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