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There is something he noticed about the fey realms. Having only gone through two, and staying currently in Autumn.
"There are so many interesting fey here," he states to a squirrel digging in the ground. The squirrel initially startles and looks at him, but with a twitch of its tail and no movement from the being that spoke it returns to its task. "I think what is most interesting is this almost not-quite trapped nature. It's less that they do not have the power to go elsewhere, but more so a lack of desire. People come here often enough to keep them entertained and they can scry and manipulate those on other planes to their heart's content. Rather, they are happy where they are and so have no cause for movement."
The squirrel scampers up the tree across the path, and he sighs. "Even the trees, whether they watch and listen or remain statues do not move. Perhaps that gives some credence to an idea I've had. I have no idea how long I've been here, but it has certainly been a while."
He reaches back and pulls his ponytail over his shoulder, "My hair has grown longer, for one thing. And I guess fey can appear however they wish, so there is no cause to feel put out that I have to shave or cut it and they do not, but the flow of time is strange. It's like, that time I stayed for days and days in the Summer Court. While I was in Spring, time felt fairly normal but the months in summer did not age me as much as I think they should have. And they did not age the fey at all, obviously. Perhaps time flows differently in each court? I'm not sure."
He stops, and breaths for a few moments as he looks around. Frowning, he eases up, taking care to use the tree he was leaning on for balance so as not to disturb the leaves, and gently walks off, returning to the village.
In the short walk back, the sunlight disappears and paints the village in soft golden light bouncing between the trees and landing on the houses. He flexes his hands in his jacket pockets and balls them up, opening his mouth and breathing out through it to see the white cloud quickly dissipate. It's beautiful, they all have been. Beautiful and strange and vibrant, but it is time to move on. He steps into the village limits and feels the combined power of those who live here wash over him. The barest brush of something unknown, out of his reach. A sense of something being different without the language to describe what it is. The change does not make him pause as it once did, and he continues to an abandoned house on the edge of the village.
Passing the threshold of his temporary home is not the same experience as some others. He has made friends here, as much as one can be "friends" with beings so different and more powerful. Quite the home it has become. There are small trinkets on the windowsill, dried wood for a fire, plates and bowls from past travelers, dried herbs and fruits, a large cauldron and a hook to hang it with, spiced cider and other liquors to warm the body, blankets made from spun fabric and a bed to lie in. Some, left by others taking his path or in reverse. Some, left by fey with too much and yet not willing to entirely part with. Some he brought with him or made himself but will not carry forward.
He breathes in deep and closes his eyes, letting a small smile slide upward as he breathes out and opens them. "It's time to move on," and so he starts packing his bag. His blankets and warm clothes on the bottom to cushion his more delicate toiletries and handmade items. All in all, not that much really. He is not traveling far, but when he is one spot among many who have come before and many who come after, the land and the people provide everything he needs for the price of his existence and his stories.
Too soon, if there is such a thing as "soon" here, which he is starting to doubt there is, his bag is packed, his boots are retied, and the fire is put out. He used the last dredges to light a lamp for his walk and keeps a bit of the food packed in close reach in case he gets hungry. As he steps outside, there is a presence and a warmth radiating the air in front of him. He sets his bag and lantern down and stretches a hand out. He touches something solid that he taps twice before letting his hand fall. The glamour washes away and a fey reveals themself.
They are a deep-orange-skinned individual with short curly hair that fluffs around their head, going from a blood-orange color at the roots to a soft blond at the tips. Their eyes are a vibrant red that fades to brown at the edges of their eyelids and their ears are long and pointed backwards, almost curving down at the edges. Their features are somewhat more rounded than other fey you've met, and they are wearing a long brown tunic and black leggings that end at bare ankles and feet.
They smile as he raises an eyebrow and purses his lips.
"What does that look mean?" They ask as their eyes open wider and they grin.
"It means I am unimpressed, Flax," he responds. "I am leaving, as I told you already."
"I still don't get why you're leaving though. You should just stay here!" Flax leans forward slightly, using their arms animatedly when they speak, and gestures at the lights just starting to glow in trees around the village. "You haven't even been here that long! We're having a festival soon you simply cannot miss."
A bit of fondness leaks into his voice as he replies, "I know, I'm sorry to miss it. I am sure someone else will come along who will be delighted at the apple spread you speak so highly of."
"No! You don't get it, Jerem," they say, grasping his forearms. "There's no one else like you who's come by in so long! Who may ever come by again!"
Jerem leans forward, forcing Flax to let go, and slides them into a hug. "I know, but I will come back again. It's what I want."
Flax grumbles something into his shoulder but wraps their arms around him anyway. Jerem presses a kiss to their collarbone before stepping back and running a hand through their, as the name implies, fine flaxen hair. They give a short hum before frowning and brushing his hand away, clasping it in their own and brushing their own hand through his much longer hair.
"Ridiculous you keep this tucked away," they mutter, pushing the hair tie out of its place and letting it fall to the ground.
"Are you going to keep saying that every time you pet me?" Jerem smiles.
"Hmm, I'd stop if you stayed" Flax grins, looking away from the long strands back at Jerem's face.
"I don't believe that for a second," he states and Flax's eyes narrow. They look back at his hair, gathering it back up into his ponytail.
"Well then this will be your promise to come back, and I'm holding you to it," they breath out, a little more curt than before. They nudge him to turn slightly and pluck a red-blond ombre hair out of the air to wrap around his own. The slight tingle of magic presses just barely on the edge of notice on his back where his hair rests as Flax turns him back around, pointy grin back in place. "You're lucky I'm okay with sharing, not everyone is as generous as I am."
"That has got to be the tenth or twelfth time I have heard that. I think more fey are perfectly alright with letting go as long as I return someday than you might think."
Flax's nose wrinkles before it relaxes. "It's rude to compare your partners, you know. It's more for your protection anyway. You cannot be kept as long as you have ties elsewhere, and where you are headed it is only going to get colder and harder to move."
"Thanks Flax, eat some apple-cinnamon tarts for me."
Their lips widen again, showing off their pointed teeth. "Return and there will be much eating to be had," and a blink later they are gone, the smell of a field and a slight apple-cinnamon taste lingering in his senses.
As he turns away, the scent is quickly replaced by that of the forest. Damp wood and earth filling the gap and he wants to head further in. Linger in Autumn longer, but the parts towards the end, when the leaves have fallen and the cold has really started to set in past a chill. When the darkness comes earlier and stays longer. With fey that embody the washed-out landscape and everlasting decay. Jerem breaths in and moves toward where he wants to go next.