When we were kids we were hardly allowed to go out and play and when we could it was never more than a few dozen meters away from home anyway. The adults said it was too dangerous, what with the war and all, and that the ferals would take us away and turn us mad like the other Hybrid Fey.
But I had seen the ferals and they weren’t so scary. Honestly they were just lost and in pain. Strange, yes, and never to be considered sane – they lacked moral chains and could not be truly trusted outside of their chosen aspiration but they too valued the idea of play, in their own animalistic way, and they too were denied this freedom by forces larger than they.
So one day during a foray beyond the main passageways and into the auxiliary tunnels surrounding, I turned to my second, my clangroom Baylen, and bid him to follow me into one of the crystalline caves where ferals relaxed and played. There we met a feral, more like us than they, it whisked and twirled, pleased to see us, a whimsical grin splayed across it’s face.
“I welcome the, Roxana and Baylen, children of Clan Kattrigree. I am Tayvor Averth, Son of Glee, and this is my homestead.” His lanky ethereal figure spread its arms and motioned to the caves around and to the ferals running and jumping and wrestling.
Daily Prompt: Playful