"... is everything alright, dearest?"

His ears pricked up at the sound of the familiar voice. Ceasing his irritated clawing and padding on the leather he twisted his head around to stare behind him, in the direction of the words. Pausing, and then spitting just once more, his body followed through the turn until he faced the talker. By no surprise in any way it was the one he called his 'beloved' and thought of as the closest thing he would ever have to a mate.

The faun of Radasanth, the Matriarch of the Gilded Lily - Philomel Serkena van der Aart.

Blinking his bright golden eyes once he pulled back his lips to show his brilliant ivory, and very sharp, teeth as a indication of his current emotional state. Swinging once more his russet and white-tipped tail back and forth, Veridian answered the faun, directly into her mind.

He is a rootless demon, a scurvy cur, a thing earthless and void of nature, who deserves nothing more than to be boiled in a bath of fat!

Philomel raised an eyebrow, the corner of her mouth flickering into a smile.

"Who is this now? What has he written?" she said, for she was no an idiot and could see that Veridian was furious over a book.

The Earth Spirit seethed, sharply hissing through his gnashed teeth, and scratched at the cover a few more times before replying to her.

He claims that magic can come from everything, from ghosts and technology and all sorts of places, but never once mentions nature spirits! How dare he forget about us! How dare he, dare he, dare he!

Intrigued, now, about this seemingly rude author, Philomel moved slightly to the side to get a look at the binding. Her eyes quickly read the title, and the name of the author, pausing for a moment in commentary as she did so. Veridian continued to make deep dents in the leatherwork of the piece, something which would not be easily repaired. For a while the faun was quiet, thinking to herself and in all honesty getting highly amused at the display of anger of the otherwise adorable creature, and then she leaned back, nodding.

"Likely he is dead now, anyway, love. The War of the Tap was decades, centuries back in time, and whatever he knows, or indeed, does not know, is nothing compared to you," she leaned forwards, aiming to scratch the fox behind his ears. "For you know better."

Dead? No, indeed, Philomel, he is an elf, and of so little heart that he seeks to insult me and all my kin. This book - it contains nothing of my species and our power, throughout the War and throughout the entire history of the Red Forest. Why - see here.

Now the Earth Spirit left the Chronicle and Aftermath of the War of the Tap's cover, and landed on the table top, made of oak wood. He barked, once, and his furious note echoed around the great chamber of the place, bouncing off the tapestried walls to an audience only of books and the faun. After this noise, however, he then ascended onto another book, and scraped at this one, and pointed his nose to a further five volumes, all lined up on the table, each with their own scarred covers. Each had obviously not satisified the Earth Spirit in terms of their history or facts. From what Philomel could see they ranged from everything to do with a book on the flora and fauna of the Red Forest, to a 'simple' treaty on the movements of beasts through the main continent of Althanas. However, all had been deemed terrible works, and suffered the wrath of her familiar.

Unredeemers, unblessed! Earthless, dirtless, scavengers! They are rootless, all of them, terrible of deed and of word, and all of them should suffer in pots of fat!