Quest for the Lyre of Orphaeo

[Philomel]

Slowly Philomel lifted up her eyes from the white, beautiful lyre. Her fingers still stroked the air above the strings, but her gaze went away to the right where she had seen Veridian fall. Softly, in the light of the dying globe of light she looked upon where his body had been, and now where there was only empty space. Softly, she breathed in, knowing that in a few moments he would be back under the ash tree, far away back in Corone. Soon, their minds would touch again, and they would be as one. Connected as souls, each other's true family.

Rising from her crouch she watched Breaker coming over, his hands wrapped around her weapons. The cloak he had made for her fell around her, and she felt a smile coming to her face as she looked upon him. So beautiful, was he, blessed like she by a goddess, and truly wonderous. A warrior, a magician, a hero. With him she stood, nodding slowly and hugging the lyre to her chest.

"So the stories were always true," she said softly, "Blessed Orphaeo had a lyre, buried with him." She looked over to Breaker as they began the long walk out. "Did you ever think that we would find it?"

"I trusted that our godesses spoke truth," he said quietly, and Philomel found herself nodding.

"That is something that ... I fail to do sometimes," she admitted. "I fail to put my trust in Drys, even though she is wholly true and just. She created my race, and that of the earth-spirits, of which Veridian is one of. We sometimes feel but cogs in a machine, but it is at times like this that I remember that I am more than that. That I am ... not just a cog."

A small sigh came from between her lips as she saw the ragged remains of her armoured corslet in his hands. It was an expensive piece, but one that had been truly damaged in this period of fighting and strife. A spare blast of magic had torn a quarter asunder, brutal and harsh. Later on she would need to take it to a menders to get it fixed, but at least these days her coffers were not empty. Nay, not in the slightest.

They slowly climbed out of the tunnel, light flooding in elation and beauty. Philomel felt herself warm with the sight of the sun, hugging the lyre to her chest. As she did she silently said a prayer to Drys, thanking her for their survival and the ability to bring into safety such a treasure. She thanked her for the presence of Joshua, and the fact she had met such a wise man. Perhaps, later, they would rejoice under a starlit sky in a clearing in the safer part of the woods. Away from this mound, away from the mauls, away from all that -

"You are welcome," said a soft voice.

Philomel knew exactly who it was. As she gained out of the tomb, her body spun, eyes going wide. Breath escaped from her lips as she fell onto her knees before a beauty who stood there. Tall and fair, with hair the colour of a summer wheat field. Her eyes were bright, and she was dressed in a gossamar green gown, flowing and without end as it seemed to merge with the ground itself. A wreath of flowers adorned her crown and as Philomel saw her her face lit up in a gentle smile. Leaning forwards she - Drys, the goddess - placed her hand's on the faun's head and whispered gently.

"Today and forevermore, you are my priestess."

Then she kissed her head, and stood slowly back up. Philomel stayed down, her heart a flutter with pure awe as Drys looked to Joshua.

"Hello," she greeted him, "I am Drys. Thank you, beloved of Ama'leh and Survani, for aiding my Philomel."