Information

Jamarcus
Legacy Name: Jamarcus

The Glade Noktoa
Owner: Mackenzi

Age: 9 years, 3 weeks, 3 days

Born: March 25th, 2015

Adopted: 8 years, 10 months, 2 weeks ago

Adopted: June 1st, 2015

Statistics

• Level: 26
   
• Strength: 51
   
• Defense: 50
   
• Speed: 48
   
• Health: 50
   
• HP: 50/50
   
• Intelligence: 81
   
• Books Read: 81
• Food Eaten: 2
• Job: Cookie Cutter Captain

information

Age 8
Jamarcus stumbled through the grass in the pre-dawn light. It was still slick with dew and it made him slip in his tennishoes, but of course that didn't stop him. The rays of light where just starting to poke through the trees like Wonderland, little bird noises here and there sounding like voices saying hello, good morning. And suddenly she was there, radiating light brighter than the sun itself, it seemed to his little eyes. He was transported to summer, warmth and the smell of honeysuckle and the tickle of a butterfly's wings against his face. He stared at her for what felt like an hour, probably a few minutes, and for a while she stared back.

Age 18
He's the only one of his friend group to really be into camping, but they like to go with him anyway. He is always hiking, scaring his parents being out so late, going so far alone. He spends his hard-earned part-time job money on boots, binoculars, sleeping bags, even night vision goggles. He reads a lot of books, some on animals and the environment and biology, some about fantasy and medieval magic. He spends hours at home on the internet, always searching for new information, for anyone else who may have seen what he'd seen. One day he stumbles across an off-hand comment: "those butterflies are always singing, they don't say much that makes sense. but they're the only ones the ladies still talk to."

Age 28
Jamarcus has bought up some acres of land around that park, as far from civilization as he can get. He has ditched the nightvision goggles but kept the hiking boots; they're daytime creatures, he is pretty certain now. Dawn and dusk creatures, gentle dappled sunlight creatures. He is listening to the butterflies now. It took so long. He had to lay in the wildflowers for hours, perfectly still. But he finally heard them. Their shouts sounded like whispers. They sang songs they'd heard before, any genre, they loved all music, and they wrote their own songs about places they've been. Things they'd seen. Now as much of his seventeen acres as he could was solid wildflowers. He tended more exotic flowers around his house. Six months of the year his home was a rainbow. And every spare minute he'd be out in the fields, sitting and listening to those butterflies, watching the tree line with his binoculars, or hiking deep into the park.

Age 38
He found he liked drawing a lot, so he practiced drawing her from memory, and then from pictures of horses. One of his old friends asked if he had room to board a rescue horse on his property. One horse turned to three and they made for excellent drawing practice, just add a horn at the end. They made for good company as well. He'd sell flowers in town some days, at any farmers markets that popped up. He has thought a lot about this life he's built for himself, surrounding himself with happiness and magic. So careful not to become Captain Ahab. Live his life with joy, his father always told him. Would he drop all of this, if he succeeded? If he failed? No, he was certain; he'd found magic in the way the butterflies sang, the way the bees hummed and the birds greeted each other each morning. He made so many good friends and kept his family close. His life was a good one even if his dream never came to fruition.

Age 48
You stop by his house one morning to drop off a late check from the farmer's market- the door's open, but you can't find him. You spend another 30 minutes looking out in the fields before circling back to the house, to the back door this time, and finally notice a piece of paper under a unicorn magnet on the fridge. Of course he didn't just leave a note, but he wrote a whole letter. Jamarcus would only do something if he could do it in the most poetic way possible.

---

"I heard whispers a few evenings ago. The bees working, working working, had a new buzz to them, a brightness. They talked of butterflies taking up so much space in my fallow pasture. I spent a few nights there, under the stars, listening to the butterflies sing in their sleep. Their songs never sleep- "what's a god to a non believer? she stuck a bookmark/ in my heart/ and walked away" - but one night as I dozed, I heard them, singsong voices making poetry when they couldn't rhyme. "She wasn't the last/ She came back/ And so did the others." I sat bolt upright, hoping hoping hoping, looking wildly, craning my neck in every direction at once. I could not find the butterfly who said it- the more I moved the more I disturbed their peaceful sleep, and they fell silent. I searched until sun-up, desperate and excited and ever hopeful. I searched for hours, and found nothing but their sprightly, lackadaisical laughter. I even asked them directly, in vain desperation. Of course butterflies will never give a straight answer. But on my way home I heard again, as if to taunt me, from as far away as a butterfly could be and still be heard- "Unicorn!"
There must be one near. Or was one, a while ago. I've pack a week of provisions and I've got my gear, no worries. There's some money in the pantry, please take care of the horses while I'm out, Mom knows what to do.
I leave tomorrow evening. I'm so close, I'm closer than I've ever been since I was eight. This is it! I'll finally see her again!

Faith, Hope And Love,
Jamarcus"

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