goldfishontherocks | Somewhere In the Preserve, Saturday Morning

The air just felt clearer today; Keyleth could tell as much as soon as she woke up.

This was, apparently, a huge enough relief that she got out of bed, got dressed, and went straight out to the preserve to just . . . well, get some fresh air. Being out here helped her ground herself again after the awkwardness and confusion of the week, on top of that, and she was taking her time, stopping to reach out and touch the life energy of a tree here or a flower there, or saying hello to a passing bird.

Which was when the dagger whistled past her ear, embedding itself neatly -- if not terribly deeply -- into a tree several feet in front of her.

"Gah!" yelped Keyleth, spinning to face in the direction she was fairly sure the dagger had come from. "Watch where you're throwing things, you --"

The rest of the sentence faltered and stumbled to a halt, because there was something uncannily familiar in the grin of the twelve-year-old girl who stood there, wrapped in a dark cloak with a ruff of what looked like raven feathers.

"Um . . ."

[OOC: For . . . me, and I'm pretty sure I'm going to hell for this. :D]

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"It was a good shot, huh?" crowed the girl, who then darted in with surprising speed and agility to wrap her arms around Keyleth's waist for a hug. "Found you, Mom."

"Excuse me?" The question echoed off the trees around Keyleth as the startled pitch of her voice rocketed straight up into the heavens.

"Except you're really not that much older than me," the girl noted, leaning back a little bit to look up at her. "That's a little bit weird, but it makes sense."

From this angle Keyleth was able to get a good look at the face of the girl, who hadn't let go of her yet: pointed ears and features that hinted at her elven ancestry, Keyleth's own red hair and green eyes, and a grin that had mischief written all over it. The grin faded quickly, though, as if she'd remembered she needed to keep up appearances and let a solemn, brooding expression take its place.

A sprig of holly dangled from the girl's belt -- a druidic focus, Keyleth definitely recognized that -- but also two dagger sheaths, one of which was empty at present.

Keyleth made a strangled noise. "You are too young to be playing with weapons." None of this made any sense whatsoever, but somehow, that reaction was instinctive.

The girl sighed and let go of Keyleth, scurrying quickly past her to retrieve her dagger from the tree.

"I'm not playing," she said with a petulant sigh as she slid the dagger back into its sheath. "I'm practicing, and it's not any more dangerous than learning to Wild Shape, and you were doing that at a quarter of my age."

"Oh, have you gotten the hang of wings yet?" Keyleth asked without skipping a beat, and at the same time she was perfectly conscious of how weird and surreal this was. But look, she had to know.

"No," the girl said immediately in a tone that sounded like a much broodier version of her own 'I am nerding out about something' tone. "They're still really tricky."

"I know, right?"

Keyleth blinked, then waved both hands around in an unmistakable flail.

"Okay! Can you please explain how exactly I'm your mom? Also, who are you?"

"I already told you, you're my mom," the girl said in an exaggeratedly patient voice as she slowly circled around Keyleth. She had good footwork, light and silent, and she moved like a predator cat. "Not now, I mean. But you will be someday."

She murmured a few incantations, and a delicate white flower unfurled into existence with each repetition of the words until she had enough for a small bouquet; one final casting of the spell, and a length of glossy black vine wove itself around their stems.

"These are from me," she said, and held the flowers out to Keyleth.

"Snowdrops," Keyleth noted as she took the bouquet, and she couldn't help smiling a bit. "Thank you. But seriously, you are . . .?"

There had to be some truth to the girl's claims. Spellwork was sometimes less about specific words and gestures than it was about consistent technique, and the verbal and somatic components she'd used to cast the druidcraft cantrip were the same ones Keyleth's mother had taught her when she was little. As improbable as all this was, that rang with absolute familiarity.

"Lin'dalin," the girl told her with an amused sigh. "But you can call me Lin. Everyone else does, you and Dad and --"

She shook her head.

"Everyone else. I shouldn't talk about your future too much, but that's where I'm from."

"Aw, well, that was nice of you," Keyleth replied, still kind of lost about this whole thing but thinking it was sweet all the same. "But really, you can't tell me?"

Lin shook her head, and as much as she was trying to look serious and grim about the question she was only half successful. The earnestness in her expression, though, came through perfectly.

"Sorry. That's what you told me before I left, though. That it wasn't a good idea for anyone to know too much about their future, so I should be careful what I say."

Keyleth nodded, and after a moment to think that over agreed, "That makes sense. I'd be second-guessing everything -- well, even more -- and wondering how my choices were going to affect what was going to happen."

And it made sense that a future version of herself would know exactly what kind of trap she might fall into with access to that kind of knowledge.

Lin laughed, delighted, which made her quick reversion to the serious expression she seemed to try and maintain as her default a bit jarring.

"That's almost exactly what you said, word for word."

"I would know," Keyleth said with a laugh that was only slightly hysterical. "Way to go, me?"

She hesitated for a moment, then spoke up.

"But hey -- you can't even give me a little bit of a hint, can you? Who your dad is?"

"I'm really sorry, but I really, really can't."

Lin smiled slightly and turned quickly on her heel so that her cloak flared out dramatically behind her.

And she walked away.

. . . But not before Keyleth ran to catch up with her.

"Oh, no, you don't. Come on, let's get you a decent breakfast first, huh?"

"Yeah, all right," conceded Lin, and reached up to take Keyleth's hand. "I'd like that."

Somewhere In the Preserve, Saturday Morning

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