deep in a forest, silence stills. as Fenrir comes out of the shadows, basked in a swirl of stars, the fireflies alight, the creatures of the forest come to life, and flowers sprout from his hind legs. the moon comes alive with the nod of his head. the grass swirls and glitters around his feet, as if dancing. butterflies descend from out of their hiding spots to flap their wings in respect of their Enchanted. whispers of sweet, sweet promises flitter in the shadows; spruce trees extend their branches to him, and the clovers shake with giddying excitement. even the skunks clamber at his feet, and the mushrooms, though rooted, exude joy from how they roll their heads in circles.
in the night of the forest, the Enchanted Fenrir stands tall. His Enchanted, His Majesty - all these words exchanged in the flutter of a firefly's wings; in the movement of the trees' leaves, swaying side to side. His Enchanted's eyes glow, the golden markings on his fur shimmer with a new energy. stardust comes to life among the shrubs, the rocks, emerging as if it has been alive for the very first time in a long, long time. it settles on the flowers, on His Enchanted's horns, begging to be Blessed, begging, pleading. His Enchanted bows his head, nose touching the stardust, and his eyes sparkle with adoration.
the forest comes to life. the forest rejoices. new mushrooms emerge from mossy boulders where once there had been nothing; lilies and lilacs and daisies emerge from the ground, once long-forgotten, now a new memory. fireflies swirl in a hypnotic, entrancing movement, rhythmically following the murmurations of the plants.
the forest glows with the acknowledgment that their Enchanted has awoken.
the forest glows.