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Manon wakes up to darkness. She can feel a soft body, breathing gently, at her back and the itchy scrape of grass on her legs. They must have fallen asleep after their midday meal. Rubbing the late afternoon grogginess out of her eyes, she attempts to wake her beast up by gently stroking his belly. Abraxos purrs, snuggling deeper into himself and wrapping the protective wing around her tighter.
"Oh you big baby," She grumbles, and then pokes him in the side with a sharp iron nail. It's not enough to hurt, just to startle.
He wakes up with a yelp, growling at her. His own claws pierce the ground, as if to say 'I've also got some and I'm not afraid to use it'.
"I did try to wake you up gently," She raises a brow, "Don't look at me all betrayed."
He responds by huffing and unfurling his wing.
The world is bright, brighter than she would have expected at this time. The realization that summer is fast approaching the continent is not a welcome one. She prefers the cool nights and snowed terrain. But nonetheless the setting sun is beautiful, a tapestry of gold and red and purple. Her heart clenches ever so slightly at the thought that Asterin would have loved it, would have probably made them stop training or whatever they were doing and appreciate the glowing world.
She doesn't have time to think on it any further because Abraxos let's out a low growl, one she can feel through the ground. He's on guard. Someone's here.
Immediately her iron nails flick out, her teeth slicing at her gums as they protrude. Her wyvern bristles his wings, spikes catching broken shards of light, and stares unmoving at the cluster of trees before them.
She slips into a predators state, as lethal and terrifying as the beast beside her.
"Come out, come out, wherever you are?" Her voice is all witch, all killer.
There's a rustling, she takes a step closer. A branch cracks, Abraxos snarls. A string of curse words bounce around the forest, she frowns. And then a girl, as small as Elide, stumbles out, hopping on one foot, her bow tucked over her shoulder haphazardly.
There is a strange smell coming from her, like human... mostly. But under it, power. So much power. And it is ever changing. Like a river’s course. Abraxos smells it too because he sniffs curiously and starts padding towards the stranger.
They don't notice, too busy attending to their injured foot, which seems to be bleeding if the gods-awful stench of exposed blood is anything to go by.
The wyvern is right by their head, and he takes a long sniff, as if burying his nose in his precious flowers.
The girl screeches, falling onto the ground with a painful thud. The beast takes the chance to pounce, shoving his admittedly large, obviously lethal maw toward her much smaller, much softer body.
Manon can see the fear in her eyes.
"Can you call your monster off?" They stammer.
Abraxos takes the opportunity to open his mouth, as if to eat her whole. She watches the theatrics in amusement.
The girl, braver now, attempts to wriggle her way out, already reaching for her bow, which had been flung to the side when she fell.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you," Manon attempts to hide the feral grin threatening her lips.
"Then what exactly do you suggest I do?" The girl snaps.
She shrugs, as if she couldn't care less what the outcome of this little kerfuffle is, "Either your worst or your best."
The girl opens her mouth, blue eyes flaring with anger.
Manon releases her smile, "Although I suggest not doing your worst. He has very sharp teeth."
"Well I wasn't going to do that." She growls, "But thanks for the advice." She starts wiggling again, trying and failing, to remove herself from under a wyvern the size of a small village.
Abraxos pays no mind as he continues to explore this strange new person and their even stranger scent.
"What are you?"
"Excuse me?" The disbelief in their voice makes Manon laugh— an unusual rusty sound, but welcome all the same.
"You do not smell fully human," She frowns, moving slightly closer, "That is why he is sniffing you."
"I was born human but got turned fae when I died." She says it as if it's a question she's answered a million times. "Will you tell him to get off!" There is no patience in her expression. "My leg hurts and I need to make sure I'm not going to bleed out."
The witch makes a show of surveying her. "You're not."
And just when the girl looks like she's about to explode, eyes blazing, cheeks red as blood rubies, Manon strokes a hand down Abraxos' wing and mutters a command in his ear.
With a final whiff he shakes out his body and takes off to the skies.
"If it was that easy why didn't you do it in the first place?" She sits up, huffing.
"Since I no longer kill men for entertainment I've needed to find it elsewhere."
The glare she is given is enough to melt the Terassen snow. But a wince follows the heated expression and it tugs at something in Manon she hasn't felt in decades.
Crouching down she takes the girls leg in her arms and surveys the damage.
"What do you think you're doing?" She attempts to pull it back but the witch looks up, gold eyes narrowing.
Manon knows she didn't bring any supplies, this intending to be an afternoon trip only, so she resigns to tearing off strips of her undergarments hidden under her riding leathers to keep out the stubborn cold.
"What is your name?"
The girl is quiet for a beat, and Manon thinks she'd going to be stubborn about this too. But then she looks up and there's a curious look in those blue eyes.
"Feyre."
"Manon." She rips the linen. "Do you have water? Or better yet ale?"
The frown is back, and it is effort to stifle her laugh. "I was out hunting, I don't drink." She dumps some water over her leg, watching rivulets of blood flow down the skin and onto the ground.
"What were you hunting for?"
"Information."
Manon hums, tying the cloth around the cut. "Did you find it?"
The girl's— Feyre's skin is smooth, and cold to the touch.
"I found you," She says it as if she hasn't quite decided if that's worth something or not, "And your beast." She shudders.
"He is a wyvern."
"He is nosy."
The witch laughs at that, and it surprises her enough that she laughs harder. And when she looks to Feyre, expecting to see a scowl, she is pleasantly surprised with a soft, half smile. It makes her look so completely different. It makes her look beautiful.
A screech from above ricochets them back to reality, and they are stumbling to their feet, awkwardness and curiosity and embarrassment already pulling them to opposite sides of the clearing.
Abraxos lands with a soft thud, and proceeds to hunch down, as if waiting for Manon to get on.
"My stead demands we're off." She rolls her eyes.
"Thank you," Feyre gestures to her leg.
"I hope you find what you're looking for." She climbs on the wyvern.
Those blue eyes chase something untamable, as she picks up her bow and stares directly at her. "I think I already have."
Feyre disappears into the forest. And all Manon can think is maybe she’s found what she was looking for too.