#ankur being a weirdo as usual u.u

[marakama]

@unfaeyh

Ankur cannot remember when he began walking and he is scarcely aware of how far he has travelled, his head too like honey- heavy and sticky and obfuscating- for him to realize how deeply he has wandered (and how easily). Thick as it is, the strange forest seems to part before him, inviting him further and further into its almost familiar embrace. The looming branches above him twisted like those of sacred figs, tendrils of fog weaving through night air, the eyes of something ancient watching wherever moonlight breaks through leaves; even the eerie whispers around him sound like the murmuring of yakshas. He is a stranger here, certainly, but for the moment, he forgets how far he is from home. 

He also cannot remember finding the pond, and does not register the wet mud he kneels in as he lowers himself before it, transfixed by its perfectly still water, dark despite the moonlight in this small clearing. Something within it calls to him, the faint glow of his own eyes in the night blinking back at him, almost beckoning too. Slow, outstretched fingers reach forward and hover over the pond, its surface rippling softly in anticipation of--

He tenses, head snapping back to attention, eyes narrowing as he carefully scans his surroundings, unsure of what he heard. The dense trees around him mean he is unable to see much either, and a wave of cold floods through him as he becomes aware of his surroundings, of how decidedly alien this forest is to him. The water before him suddenly looks cruel in its beauty, its call more like the overwhelming urge to jump at a cliff’s edge than the alluring scent of ripe fruit. Something like disgust (or perhaps fear) rises in his stomach, and he stands slowly, fingers curled like claws as he turns to look behind him. Something-- no, someone is nearby, he’s sure, and watching him. He relaxes slightly; a person, magical or not, is decidedly less frightening than whatever ancient magic called him into this forest. And his experience calms him too-- for what entities take human form, except to speak, to appease human fears? The west might be different in that too, but he decides to take the risk.

“I am not your enemy,” he tries in careful English (he is in Europe, he remembers hazily-- somewhere in the Isles), tone meaasured and calm. He shows his open palms, head swaying slightly side to side. “You can show yourself, I will not try to harm you.”