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Isibel has never seen an odder collection of fauna. She has not traveled extensively, but she is sure that creatures of this size - lizards as heavy as ten elves together, beavers eight and nine feet long, turtles with shells the size of small houses - are not customary. Yet the island is riddled with them.
The creatures have no particular fear of elves, but nor do they seek them, and none of her party have been attacked; she feels safe enough traveling through the forest on her own, stepping lightly, looking for the sweep of the treeline and any springs that might be useful for settlers if elves settle here. Besides, she is a student of the small magics, some of which may be cast quite rapidly if there is need; she could frighten away an animal that took too much interest in her. The ribbons tied around each of her knees and ankles (blending seamlessly with the rest of her travel outfit) are some of her finest small magic, guiding her steps so that she may place her feet as elves ought to be able to and bring no embarrassment to her House. They don't make her truly graceful, but she can walk, and care will do the rest.
She's deep into the forested part of the Unknown Island when she starts finding statues. Old statues. The trees have grown up around them, it looks like, they've been here that long; they're worn and weathered and have lichen growing on them.
And they're all of unicorns.
The oldest sculptures are none too skillful, but as she proceeds inward towards the center of the island, they become newer and better and it's plain to see that they're not of unicorns, but a unicorn. A unicorn with a broken horn; this is not, it soon becomes apparent, random damage to early statues. Someone has carved a specific unicorn, dozens - hundreds? thousands? - of times. And the art has been made with such intense love, and the newest of the statues are so delicately done that they look almost like real unicorns, with all the magic that implies, though they hold still and are on closer inspection all still carved from stone.
Someone loved this unicorn, and lived on this island, and made a thousand statues of her, and now the place is inhabited only by giant animals that certainly could have done no such thing. Isibel wonders what happened to the sculptor. To the unicorn, too.
On she walks.
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small_magics
small_magics
"While a life without surprises would be dull, I believe I could happily pass my days without that one, were I warned in advance," says Isibel, equally dry.
"He chose to express his gratitude for your company by offering you the use of his body," Magania explains. "In some detail, which I am not prepared to repeat even had I understood it all."
"I hope that your curiosity is satisfied," says Magania.
"I am pleased to hear it," says Magania, and she walks with Isibel back to the camp.
small_magics
In the morning, Isibel returns to the forest with a fresh notebook and dressed in one of her more conservative outfits, not that she was particularly daring yesterday, and looks for her demonic pupil.
He is floating naked in the pond again.
small_magics
She waves. At some point today she's going to ask him if he wants some clothes. She'll introduce the relevant vocabulary. But not first. "When the sun was down, at night, I slept," she says, miming sleep. "Now I am awake again." She opens her eyes. "And I am here to talk to you and teach you my language." It feels inane, but how else is he going to pick up conversational fluency?
endragoned
He nods.
"Elf sleep," he says, and makes a squishing-in gesture with his hands. "Elf sleep night."
"Elf sleep," he says, and makes a squishing-in gesture with his hands. "Elf sleep night."
small_magics
"Elves sleep at night," she corrects. "Elves sleep during the night. I am an elf, so I sleep at night."
endragoned
"Elves sleep at night," he repeats. "Elves sleep at night, sleep at night, sleep at night," with successive gestures perhaps meant to indicate successive instances of this activity.
small_magics
"Elves sleep every night," Isibel supplies. "And wake up every morning."
endragoned
"Elves sleep every night," says the demon, nodding. "Dragons sleep..." and he spreads his hands, highlighting the gap in his vocabulary.
small_magics
"Dragons sleep when they are bored," says Isibel, and for effect she looks with utter disinterest at a tree and folds her arms and taps her foot.
small_magics
She smiles and nods, and looks for a good place to sit to begin the lesson proper.
endragoned
The demon observes her looking around.
He kneels at the water's edge and presses his hands to a bare patch of rock, then raises them. The rock follows. It forms a curved stone bench, half of a good height for Isibel and half a little higher, with a smooth transition between; when the shape of the bench is settled, he encourages a thick moss to grow all over it and provide a padded covering. Then he sits.
He kneels at the water's edge and presses his hands to a bare patch of rock, then raises them. The rock follows. It forms a curved stone bench, half of a good height for Isibel and half a little higher, with a smooth transition between; when the shape of the bench is settled, he encourages a thick moss to grow all over it and provide a padded covering. Then he sits.
small_magics
She beams and applauds and sits. "I was standing," she reports helpfully, "now I am sitting. I am sitting on the bench you made. Thank you for making it."
endragoned
"We are sitting on the bench I made," he adapts. His pronunciation isn't perfect, but his grammar is fine.
small_magics
"We are," agrees Isibel. "Both you and I are sitting on this bench that you made. You made it with magic, from your dragon."
small_magics
"You and the dragon are Bondmates," says Isibel. "You have a Bond. That is how you can use your dragon's magic."