Day 13 - Fairytale

In the fairytales of the Bionis, those afflicted by curses or possessions or the like could be cured by true love's kiss. In the fairytales of the Mechonis, the same issues could be solved by the cooperation of an entire people, such that all came to understanding of the problem.

Could, and most always were. Egil couldn't recall any tales his father, or Neonik for that matter, had told him that ended in any particular tragedy because the efforts of a village weren't enough. Miqol sometimes took mean-spirited tacks about comical ways in which the whole thing could be proved a farce, and Neonik did relish a few with tragic flower symbolism, but usually, the blessings of Lady Meyneth were with all the heroes.

He'd heard the Bionis's stories from Arglas, of course. And he'd loved them. Gallantry had never quite been Egil's thing, but his dear friend could always inspire him to anything, especially that philosophical.

Eventually, Egil began to suspect quite firmly that Arglas was fabricating new tales, grafted onto the roots and branches of the old, with the hero always accompanied by his boon companion, or some such. The romanticization came with such promise - truly, was there anything the two of them couldn't make triumph of, together?

Once, Egil had begged the question. "Arglas, do you think..."

"I think quite often!"

The approximate region of Arglas's bearded chin was shot a half-hearted glance of disamusement.

"Do you think there need always be an affliction of some kind, to merit the demonstration of affection?"

"If I thought that, dear Egil, our conversations wouldn't sound half like they do."

All the subspecies of Giant blushed different colors, and the Machina blushed another shade still.

"No one can craft that future but us. We must weave with our own hands."