#just project ur apprentice in here idc

[eurydice-khthonios]

Wilderness

It is the month before he leaves for the first time, and he has taken them into the forest to gather herbs. The sunlight filters in through the gaps between trees and makes patterns on the foliage beneath their feet. The day is as warm as his chest feels, filled with an endearment for the human being before him. Carefully trying to cut bunches of wolfsbane with the knife he’d supplied them for the day’s outing. They would hang them up later, and let them dry before storing them or they would distill them to sprinkle around the shop to deter vermin. 

He sits against the trunk of a tree with his eyes closed, or mostly closed. They’ve asked to take the lead. To have a go at doing everything themselves rather than have him hovering over them. He obliged. They were no longer the shaking fawn they had once seemed to be. Now instead they had an inner light, the fire for independence mixed with memories that were more smoke than tangible things to recall. He could only give them what had already been theirs. 

He pretends he isn’t watching as they scamper back towards him. The same skip in their step that they’d had when the two had met all those years ago. He opens one eye the slightest bit as they hit the ground on their knees next to him. Crashing against his shoulder and holding their fists stuffed with herbs and wolfsbane in front of his face.

“Asra! Did you bring enough jars for us to put these in?” They’re beaming and it’s contagious. He can see their pride radiating out of them. They were proud to have done something without his supervision, proud to not have to be watched like a child. For him, it was restorative. Not restoring himself, but healing them. For them to regain parts of themselves, whether they knew it or not, made his heart swell in his chest. 

“Hm? Well, let’s see shall we?” He digs into the pack at his side. Pulling out a jar for each of the herbs and flowers they’ve cut for them to take back home. He sits up properly, laying the jars out, open, on the ground in front of them. Together they begin to sort out the thick bouquet of various plant life they’d gathered and put them into the jars. 

Two jars of sage and rosemary, a half jar of saffron, thyme and parsley. One full jar of basil and sumac each. One and a half for the wolfsbane. There is wild onions and various berries thrown into other jars to be sorted out later.

He reaches for the next flower they’ve gathered, bringing the next jar closer to him to put it in before he pauses. Looking closer at it. It’s pretty, that’s for sure. But certainly not on their list or with any real value for alchemy or medicine.

“Ah, did you forget what--”

“No!” They interrupt quickly, for a moment looking embarrassed then regaining their composure just as quick. His concern, along with his curiousity, is piqued. “I, well, those are for you. Since you’ve done so much for me.” They scratch at the side of their face, dirt smearing on their cheek from their fingertips. He laughs, and tucks the flower behind their ear. Their grin returning when his joviality returns. 

He would do anything to protect that grin. He would ask the world itself, nature in all it’s glory, to be merciful. To not do as it must and be gentle around them, for them. If he could rearrange the world, it would be that much softer for them so that their happiness could never come into jeopardy. 

“That’s very sweet of you.” He hums, turning his head to allow them to thread a few flowers into his hair. It is a warm moment, a fond one. 

It is three weeks until he leaves for the first time and he has taken them to a field to practice their magic, to use it. 

But first, he watches them from atop of a hill as they run through the long grass. Outside of the city’s walls and noise. The world is lit up with gold. He turns his face up towards the sky, closes his eyes, and smiles at the sun. Feeling the light warm his skin. 

He hears their footsteps come towards him at the same fast pace they’d run from him at. He opens his eyes and looks down just in time to see their face, full of joy and reckless abandon, before they tackle him to the ground with their arms around his waist. 

They are laughing, he is laughing. His own arms coming around to hug them as they lay on the ground. He loved them, and once they loved him. But he has always been their friend first and foremost, and he is more than glad to sink into these moments with them.  They are wearing a tunic they’d gotten from a client as repayment for a particularly expensive salve. It is soft, silky. He squeezes them before he lets them go. Standing up once they have run out of the energy to laugh and helps them up.

That day they light up the sky with a second sun made of various spells and magic. They make the wind and set fire to the air. Their control impeccable for one who remembers so little. He tells them he is proud, that they are so strong and so talented. That their hard work is paying off. He tells them this and does not mention the slight red in the whites of their eyes. Though his heart lurches every time for many different reasons. The plague is gone, he reminds himself, so why have they been crying then?

It is a week before he leaves, and it is raining. They are sitting near the window, having of helped him push the bed towards it, with a hot cup of tea in their hands. Though by now they have seen the rain so many times, they never fail to be amazed or captivated by it. 

“It’s like,” They would always start when he asks, “I know I must have been someone, before I lost everything and all that, so I just want to appreciate these little things, y’know? Just in case I didn’t before.”

You did, he wants to tell them as he sits next to them on the bed. Faust unravelling from him and wrapping around their shoulders. You loved the rain and the sun, you danced in both and it loved you as much as you loved it. He wants to say it. So instead he bumps their shoulder with his own and asks them if they’d been practicing their magical theory. They stick their tongue out at him and they fall into a comfortable silence. Watching the rain as it goes from a drizzle to something far heavier with harsh hale crashing against the glass pane. Lightning strikes the world around them.

He knew that if they wanted to, they would walk out into the storm and trust it to never hurt them. He knows this, because he knows them better than they know themselves. 

“Wet!” Says Faust, tightening that little bit around them. Tongue flicking out to ghost over their cheek. They grin, looking to him.

“I’m going to catch a storm one of these days, just you wait. I’ll put it in a jar, just for you.” 

It is the night after he left the first time and he is lonely. 

He is not lonely in the sense that he enjoys it. Being able to enjoy his own company, the ability to be okay without others around, has always been innate. But after so long with someone by his side, before the plague and after, when someone relied on him, it feels unusual.  Right now, he cannot enjoy his own company as it is. 

He lies down at his camp. The beast asleep, and Faust hunting down mice and small rats to eat. He closes his eyes, and he dreams. 

When he dreams, he thinks of sunlight and flowers. Of magical lights and lightning trapped in jars. He thinks of soft clothes and softer hair, of warm skin and the simple joy of laughter shared with another person. 

When he dreams he smiles. And in a city a few hundred miles away from where he is, the subject of his dreams sits on their shared bed and looks out the window with a jar in their hands. Waiting for the biggest storm to trap in a tiny jar so he would have reason to not leave again.

It does not storm while he is away, and the second time he leaves, they wait for the storm. The third time, the fourth, the tenth and the thirtieth. The storm is never where they need it to be.