A smile found its way onto Mercurius's face as he realized the intensity of which the deer listened to his story, savoring it eagerly. Perhaps this was why Clover was so fond of telling stories; not for their face value, but for the reactions it garnered. It was similar to why many things were done. Stretching out his toes, he shook his head gently, "ah, I suppose I'm not the knight in that story, despite how much I seem to truly match up to that boy." A slight note of playful sarcasm danced around his voice and he chuckled.

"He destroyed for good, quelling those who destroyed for evil---" he paused, slowly easing himself down onto the earth, lying near Pride, "but yes, the moral, I suppose, is not to spend your whole life fighting. Do not yearn too deeply for adventure, for you may not be able to claw your way out." Mercy fiddled with a miscellaneous leaf, shrugging again. "But all stories are open to many interpretations. What of the forest creatures? The lamb? Who knows." Which was, to be honest, a fancy way of saying he hadn't quite figured that out himself yet. Improvising wasn't his finest suit. Regardless of the fact, the lion knew when to take a compliment and encouragement. "Thank you, Pride. I'm sure there are others who tell stories; there is the Lorekeeper in Canis. I've traveled all around the caves, but my paws are weary. I've only recently started telling stories." No Gembound could ever say that he wasn't humble and modest, sometimes even bashful.

"I have another story. One a little more... polished, if you wouldn't mind hearing it," Mercy offered gently, despite his aching jaw. He wasn't used to so much gentle conversation.

@Pride

Pride flicked an ear at the mention of a "Lorekeeper," his head tilting a little. He'd have to seek this one out, then.

"Canis? I have been there once, to see a seer. The one present at my hatching--a lizard by the name of Reseda--insisted that she was mad, and that our purpose was to wipe those like her from the caves. But I do not believe that she was mad. Or rather, not so much as to warrant execution, certainly." A pause, and then, in a tone of warning--"Should you meet Reseda, know that she is a powerful being, but also selfish and manipulative. At least, that is what I believe." He shifted in place, a little, so as to face Mercurius.

For a moment, white stag lay facing white lion, as the light danced through the mist falling around them, and a few falling leaves fluttered in between. It was idyllic, this place; Pride decided that he quite liked it. He felt more relaxed, more at ease here than he had in many cycles. Since his hatching, really.

A contented exhale, and Pride glanced around.

"This place is beautiful, Mercurius. I may ask permission to visit, now and again, and if you do not object, and wish anything brought here, I will attend to that. But please," he continued, his musical voice fluting higher as he glanced politely to the lion, "tell me your story."

He'd liked the last one, and was likely to remember it. The idea of a more polished one interested him, and it pleased him, too, that Mercy seemed to enjoy telling them.

@Mercurius

"Ah," Mercurius quipped curiously at the mention of a seer, and only minorly lamented the lack of an explanation. Pride was still speaking, but the pale beast decided he would have to pay another visit to Canis about this seer. Regardless, he nodded appreciatively toward the deer, thanking him quietly for the preemptive warning. "I will be wary of Reseda. It'd be wise to not encounter her, as it seems." Noted and squared away. Yet one more thing to be wary of in these accursed caves, it seemed. Whatever happened to the innocent --- bah, maybe not quite so --- days of old? They felt like wistful nostalgia now.

The garden was quiet, peaceful. Somehow, the mist had made it far more atmospheric than before and Mercurius adored it. "You're welcome at any time, Pride," he smiled softly, "to visit for whatever need: to rest, to eat, to hide." With a slight chuckle, he added: "or to visit this old man and listen to him ramble."

"Nonethless, your wish is my command," he murmured softly with a grin on his lips. Clearing his throat, he settled deeper into his lying position, content and delighted to simply speak.

"There’s a land we have forgotten, one with a blue ceiling stretching so far that the Architect’s jaws cannot scrape it. Fog clings to it. There’s a single great light, shining eternally, never dimming. Across that earth is a scar, gnarled stone rising up like ribs from the land, snow clinging to the mountains as they festered and grew. At their feet lay stretching plains, full of beasts without stones. Hoofed and pawed. Unlike us, they had no common tongue. Many different languages spanned this land, separating each clan. Sharp-toothed beasts, with the earth tumultuous beneath their feet, were the mightiest and most prone to conflict. They came together and warred against one another, teeth flashing in the weeping light of the moon. Talons scraping through flesh and bone, tearing one another apart for something they didn’t truly know. It was a war so long-fought that its origins couldn’t be traced. Any of those who remembered it had passed with time.

"One sect of these sharp-toothed beasts called themselves the Oathsworn, for they ripped the innocence of childhood from quivering infants as soon as they burst from their predecessors. They were not formed anew by age-old stone. Their father, a Promisekeeper whispered into their unopened ears, murmuring of the pride they would bring him. There were two, and a third, yet the third was swept away by the viciously rising tide.

"There were two brothers, the Raven and the Hawk, blessed with magnificent wings that spanned the whole sky. The Raven was quiet, polite, reserved, dutiful; the Hawk vicious, proud, robust, dedicated. The Hawk was resentful of his brother, seeing him as a rival to their father's love and pride, an obstacle in his path to becoming the Promiskeeper's second-in-command General. So, they trained fiercely, competing against one another to gain favor and infamy among those the Oathsworn quarrelled with. In a fateful battle, the aging General mysteriously sullied the earth in her blood, snow stained red by her end.

"Teeth snapped in the endless dark as the Hawk became his father's General, as the quietly resentful Raven rose and challenged him — a ritual forbidden by the Oathsworn. In that battle, the Raven's throat was marked exile and his wings ripped from his body. In that battle, the Hawk stole his brother's wings, taking them as his own and sending the Raven into the unknown.

"With his brother's wings, he flew. Yet, those stolen wings refused to quell their beats, raising the Hawk higher and higher into the sky. Soon, he was met with the eternal light, fire threatening to burn him wholly to his bones. In a panic, the Hawk ripped off his own wings, casting himself down into the scar. The Raven's wings would not save him, refusal voiced as they were torn apart in the blustering winds. His body met stone and he was at the mercy of birds, black as night, as they pecked at his body for eternity.

"The Hawk begged the Raven for forgiveness, salvation. Yet, he was too far gone. He had doomed them both."

As he finished, Mercurius took a deep breath and worked his jaw slightly. That story had indeed ended up being wordier than intended and perhaps a little darker, more obfuscated and mysterious. It would be one, hopefully, with more than one meaning for the deer to decipher and pick apart. The lion happily provided food for thought and the stomach.

@Pride

Pride settled in contentedly to listen, the lion's demeanor and soothing voice putting him almost completely at ease. He found himself not only content, but happy as he listened--and for someone always coldly logical, and ever-searching, it was an unusual feeling.

It was as though he was, for perhaps the first time in a very long time, in a place where he was--for the time being--meant to be. A place where it wasn't important to finish his task and move forward, or to solve a problem, or accomplish something--but rather, to listen, to relax, to pay attention only for the sake of entertainment and intellectual pursuit. Something about the secluded peace of the garden, the gentle calm that emanated from both the lion and his haven, pulled the stag into a satisfied relaxation.

He listened with all his mind, then, to the tale.

He listened closely to the mention of the blue cave--wondering briefly if it meant lapis, or perhaps sapphire; and he tried to imagine this, a gleaming stretch so high it could barely be seen. He was wondering if it would even be visible through the fog--and then Mercurius mentioned fog indeed, and Pride chewed his cud with quiet satisfaction.

He turned his mind to the single light--surely it must be quite large, and quite high, to light and warm everything so thoroughly? He settled these facets of this fictional world into his mind, holding them, suspending any disbelief as he set himself to picturing it all as thoroughly and as truly as he could.

Pride found a strange pleasure in Mercurius' words--the "scar" with its "gnarled stone rising like ribs from the land." The "teeth flashing in the weeping light of the moon." It was that esoteric and wonderful joy found from truly fantastic storytelling--the lion was an artist, a weaver of words, and the first that Pride had met. Some part of him decided, then and there, to use more poetry in his own life--it was beautiful. The language was not only being used to describe, but to wind his imagination into it, to bring beauty and metaphor to his mind, to draw him into imagining it more truly.

His tail flicked with appreciation, and he settled himself more deeply into the ferns and the moss, watching Mercurius with bright, attentive eyes.

The stag wondered, with faint concern, how these sharp-toothed creatures "ripped innocence" from newly-hatched. He wasn't sure what the tale meant by the creatures not being stone-born--were they air? Water? Pure magic, he supposed--and what a fascinating concept! But how was their innocence torn away? And how without killing them? Words whispered in pride alone would hardly do that. It sounded terrible; were they harmed? Scarred? Tormented?

What was a promise-keeper? Why would violence bring him pride?

The stag wasn't sure who the General was, and became confused upon the mention of its death. It was a "her," but he'd thought it was the same creature as the Promise-keeper--where, then, was the third who had been swept away? Ears flicked back, then forth, in some confusion--but the tale of the challenge, and the battle, drew him in.

He listened closely at the near-mythical description of the Hawk using Raven's wings to fuel its own flight--wings that betrayed, stolen and still serving their former owner. The bird tumbling, the two continuing their violence and their fall for eternity.

The peaceful side of him saw waste, in that--all the violence, and for what? The competitive side, however, found satisfaction in the raven's Revenge. He valued the traits the Raven had been described for--quiet, polite, reserved, dutiful. Certainly robustness, pride and dedication were not bad things--but viciousness most certainly was, and combined with anything, viciousness was a terrible thing.

Pride flicked an ear with interest as the story came to an end, and spoke his thoughts as if lost in them.

"Viciousness is a terrible thing," he began, slow in the mulling of his own ideas, "though imagine if it had been the raven to be the vicious one. Quiet and polite, reserved... patient in its machinations. That would make for a terrifying enemy, I should think." It wasn't a criticism of the story--no; Pride was in fact imagining his own story, now, in a sense. A tale where a creature was patient and cold, fierce and cunning. What a terrifying foe that would be. Thus far the only vicious creatures he had met were one fool with more violence than sense, and another with more desire than sense. Imagine viciousness with intelligence, not driven by hotheaded ferocity, but calculation! What a foe that might be! What a story!

He quickly turned his mind, though, back to Mercurius's tale, looking to him with still-bright interest. "I wonder, Mercurius--and that is a fantastic story, by the way. Your way with words is truly wonderful. I have never heard anything like it; I could listen to you all day. All week, perhaps! ...But I wonder--do you create them based on an underlying truth, a real story, perhaps? Are they hidden meanings, obfuscated by poetic myth? Or are they fantastic tales with only real concepts--competition, loss and so forth?"

The white stag settled himself again, his attentive curiosity showing as his entire body language focused on the lion. It wasn't false interest, not merely polite--he was, quite clearly, truly rapt. "It is so terribly detailed, and there are so many things that can be taken from it, but I do wonder if there is something tangible beneath--or if it is merely, and I say 'merely' with the utmost respect regardless, a new tunnel that you spring open in the listener's mind, to lead them to find their own new ideas."

@Mercurius

"Indeed it is," softly mused the lion, an eager smile unwilling to leave him. Gembound had listened to his stories before, but none had truly discussed the meanings they saw in them with him. It was a pleasant, delicate feeling, to know that his tales had enough substance to be talked about. Mercurius nodded solemnly and offered, "perhaps the Raven could be the enemy." It was a slim possibility, that perhaps the creature had planned for his brother's downfall, yearning to drag both of them down to the bowels of the earth. "Not all those who are patient are wholly good." It was a simple, but powerful statement which rang true with his memories and the past.

Pride's praise did not go unnoticed. If lions could blush, that is most certainly what Mercurius would be doing. Instead, he dipped his head appreciately, "thank you, truly," and adjusted his posture so that his hind legs spread out to the side. He considered the question for a moment, finding a deep intrigue in it, before replying, "I use a little bit of all of those options. Real experiences shape one's imagination, you see, and imagination drives things like myths and concepts." With an uncharacteristically sly smile, he added: "but some of it may be inspired by circumstances I've been in or those I wish could be in."

He found some bit of amusement in the enraptured language of the pale deer, once again musing that no other had truly shown this much interest in what stories he had to tell. Was this how She felt? his mind whispered, and he couldn't help but smile. "I believe that all stories, no matter what, are something to be contemplated and thought about. Maybe there's morals, but---" he cut himself off sharply with a shake of his head, "---I tell those to children."

"The Hawk may be a symbol of the wild youth, or the impatient creature tired of waiting. The Raven may stand for tempered wisdom, or the simmering temper of a wronged beast. Their wings could be representative of standing, respect, impression."---and those were just a few examples of many---"or they are simply what they are. It's what you make of them that makes the story so significant."

@Pride

Pride considered all of this, listening quietly but intently, this peaceful patience laying a long, calm foundation for a great deal of inner thought and unrushed mental debate. After a long while he turned his pale gaze to Mercurius, good-natured amusement on his face.

"Ahh, but that is one way to answer, is it not? To give all answers is the same as giving none--but I jest; I understand your meaning." He dipped his head in acknowledgement. "The story is that much more interesting, when considered from that angle, I think-... rashness and temper destroying one's standing, after being lifted by it. Or-... enabled, perhaps, I should say."

Pride shifted in place, and for a moment he tried to apply other potential metaphors to the characters of Mercurius's tale. But he came back to the idea of impetuousness itself, for the Hawk--it was not a Hawk at all, but rather the very embodiment of the aspects that described it. What did that make their general, though?
"Does this, in your story, make the general--the status quo of the mind, perhaps, or a decision to be made--or the owner of patience and rashness themselves?"

He then dipped his head almost bashfully as he realized how deeply he'd fallen into the conversation, how taken he was with the concepts now dancing in his head. "...You must let me return here, some day--some day soon--and spin you my own tale. Something I will need to take days, I think, to craft," Pride added amusedly.
"May I ask that of you? To listen to a story of my own, once I have made it? It will not be near so wonderful as yours," and this was given with a tone of honest, genuine warning. "But I wish to try it, and I would be honored if you would hear it, and judge it for me."

@Mercurius

"One of many," he reiterated softly, continuing to smile gently. Mercurius's cheeks began to ache as he forced his facade to smooth out, listening to the musings of the silvery deer. The mist had begun to grow heavy, settling about the earth in a thick, white fog. It rolled up to the beast's elbows, swirling around him and clinging to him with a pleasant coolness. He did not need to use magic to know that his plants were still delighted by it. "The deadliest foes are those who wait," he added, nodding.

Ah, the general. With a sly shrug of his shoulders, he chirped, "who knows. The general could be a goal, something to be coveted. Or, indeed, the status quo or a decision." That was the wonder of myths and legends — there was the significance and there was its ability to last and stay with those who hear and perpetuate them.

The staying power was most certainly not lost upon Pride, who suddenly had snapped out of his enraptured state in order to make a request. "You are free to come at any time, Pride. You're welcome to try your," Mercurius glanced down, "hoof, I suppose, at storytelling. I'm sure it will be excellent, even better than my own." With a note of eagerness, he appended, "I would be overjoyed to listen to your tale. Telling others is the best way to improve. As the age-old saying goes, 'practice makes perfect.'"

Pale paws scuffed the earth as he made himself impossibly comfortable upon the pebbly earth — he made a note to grow some beds of soft mosses and grasses — and he noted, "don't feel as if you've overstayed your welcome." It wasn't a matter of pleading for the deer to stay, but for him to not feel rushed or as if he suddenly had to leave. Mercurius, of course, suddenly realized that the notion had come, really, out of nowhere. With a shy smile, he turned away and shook his mane out as nonchalantly as possible.

@Pride

Pride looked to Mercurius at this last, and a strange, gentle humor took him.

"...In honesty, Mercurius," he fluted softly, and a tilt of his antlers to his new friend showed this humor clearly, "I do not know that it is possible for one to feel unwelcome in your presence. Your garden is a sanctuary, yes; but you yourself are a... a warm and welcoming presence, not to overuse the word." A light nod as he decided that his words had correctly conveyed his meaning, and then he looked around.

"I may rest here, if you do not mind it? I shall be quiet; you've left me much to think on," he added, glancing back to the white lion with humor still sparking in his pale eyes. "And then perhaps I will go--I have things to see to, myself. A so-called King to advise, and a friend to look after, and my own research to do. But most of all, I've a story I must create, a tale to weave, and I must give it my utmost attention so that its worth at least remotely approaches repayment of the time and effort you've put forth with me. Not that I feel it needs repaying, exactly; as I said I've never felt quite so welcomed or relaxed. So at home," he corrected, with a half-wistful glance around. "But your creativity breeds it in kind, I suppose. Is it a problem? I do not mind going, otherwise."

Presuming the lion gave his blessing, the stag would rest; head tucked to his side, his peaceful yet alert posture slowly relaxing into that of the deeply-asleep. There was no fear in him that the predator might attack--Mercurius simply didn't seem the sort, and apparently the deer was willing to risk his life on that judgement.

When he had rested enough, he would rise, and depart; he would go about his business, and when his tale was ready to be told, well--he would return, and he would tell it.

exit Pride ; @Mercurius

He was taken a little by the admission, fluting tones indicating that his own presence was "warm and welcoming." Mercurius had never truly made any specific attempt to seem that way --- well, he had but that was more out of submission and not receiving further abuse, anyways --- but he was rather delighted by the notion. His lips parted briefly, as he contemplated spilling a little bit of his past, but he shut his mouth with the quiet sound of unused teeth. He wouldn't admit his initial fears quite yet, despite the pleasant, neighborly air Pride carried with him.

Instead, Mercurius would nod on, "of course, I don't mind. Don't worry about whether you're quiet or noisy. Stay as long as you like." Then, watching as the stag rested easily and peacefully, the pale beast ignited a bit of magicka from within his being. Standing up abruptly, he strode toward the prone form. He gently tapped his nose against the stony earth. With a slow, creeping surge of magic, soft mosses sprung from the earth and settled underneath Pride. A rather makeshift bedding situation. It would do. Hopefully, by the next time the deer was here (pardon the rhythm), there would be more proper seating arrangements.

The lorespinner simply ambled out of the garden, pursuing, perhaps, a drink of water.

> exit mercy!