Exton

The rising sun is just lightening the ebony night. The paintbrush fairly flies across the canvas. From what Grace told her, this piece was one she had sketched out several years ago, she just never felt it was quite right. Something had been missing. Tonight had changed that.
The demifae look less like children with wings and, as the painting evolves, more like the People they truly are. Tori can pick out individuals. Miko and his brothers are sparring across, make that all over, a broad leafed plant as Rachal cheers them on, along with a few other equally striking females.

There is Star's friend Mya, being pushed on a swing. It takes a few moments for Tori to realize the swing is hanging from a potted azalea. Grace has taken the Feast and turned it into someone's balcony garden. She begins to explore the painting as Grace adds more and more detail.

"I should rest soon, but this is so fresh in my mind."

Grace's voice is soft, lost in wonder, yet she seems more vital than she has in the months Tori has been visiting with her. Tori is reluctant to break the moment. She has seen Stoney in creative spells. She only hopes Grace doesn't pay harshly for this energy.

It has been several hours since they left the Tavern and came back to Grace's apartment. The woman had gone straight to a closet and pulled out this canvas. At first Tori had thought it was blank, until she saw the faint lines of the sketching. Grace has worked nonstop since then.

Tori has kept watch very carefully over her elderly friend. It isn't until Grace sits down on the stool in front of the canvas that she asks, "Grace, do you need to rest?"

The woman's eyes gleam, shining with energy Tori has not seen in her before. She shakes her head, pale grey curls bouncing. Before long, her brushes are again in motion.

"I just needed to step back, to see what is missing. Seeing the faeries tonight... I always thought they were more like children. They aren't, are they? So much more..."

Her words are distant as she focuses on the painting. Only a few moments more and Grace steps back again. Tori sneaks a peek. The wings on the battling Fae seem to have the blur of motion used to help balance. The dress and hair on the Mya image is swaying front, as if the swing were coming back to the young demifae waiting to push it again. Another small scene is of couples dancing. Grace has captured the vibrancy of the People, the variety of skin tones and wing styles, even the styles of dress.

It takes her eyes a moment to notice the canine. It lies in the shadows, almost invisible. It watches off the canvas, as if protecting the demifae from detection. It is hard to see details, but a faint redness shines in the creature's eyes. The creature is huge, reminding Tori of a mastiff, yet more sleekly muscled. She points it out to Grace.

The woman smiles. "I saw him at the reception. I couldn't believe someone had brought their dog, but he never left the shadows, stayed close to the head table. This one is..." her words falter for a moment. "he's... prettier? Not the right word. The other was so ugly, he had a charm about him. You know, so ugly you just had to find him cute."

Tori shakes her head. Trooper... this was the Hell Hound who took a liking to Star. She could see the resemblance now, but the brindled fur, the scaly tail, the dragonlike features, were smoothed out here.

With a few flourishes of her brush, Grace signs the piece. The brushes are soon soaking in thinner, the palette and paints put away. Grace looks at Tori from the corner of her eye. "Where will you sleep today?"

A small smile creeps across Tori's lips. "Not far away. The shop opens at nine a.m. tomorrow?" At Grace's nod, Tori begins wiping her hands, drying them. "Then you need to sleep, Grace. I will see you right before dusk."

Slipping out the balcony doors, Tori lets the change take her. Broad leathery wings fan the air. Tori turns back, waving. With a push of her strong haunches, she is leaping skyward. Her wings pump once, twice, and she gains the height she needs. As she settles on the Gallery's roof, she sighs, praying to the Goddess that Grace does not pay a heavy price for her extra energy tonight.

Grace putters in her kitchen, making a cup of tea. Her voice is soft, tired. "Would you like a cup of tea? Or something stronger?"

The figure in the shadows nods. "Tea twould be fine."

The hood slides back and Torrent steps forward, taking over for grace. "Sit, I will bring it."

The woman settles on her couch as Torrent sets two cups on the coffee table. They talk for a short time and Grace begins to fade, her words softening to almost a mumble. Torrent urges her to lay back and covers her with an afghan. He cleans her cups, clearing away the makings of the tea. He settles himself in a chair, whispering to her to rest, to sleep well. His eyes travel to the painting and he smiles tiredly. He is glad he wore himself thin, to give her the energy to enjoy this night. She would not pay for her fun, that cost was his. He thinks on what she must have been like as a younger woman, not pretty, but lovely all the same, vibrant and imaginative, a treasure...

His eyes close and Torrent dozes as she sleeps.