Yunho raced across the forest, his bare feet treading against the sodden ground. A golden string hung around his wrist, the ends leading to an airborne kite following tight behind his shadow. China paper ts and gold etched designs laced its exterior, glimmering orange and blue in the summer light. He had recieved it on his eleventh summer, the gift wrapped in parchment and presented in the hold of his grandmother's hand. She had smiled at him, ushering him forward into her lap and watching with fondness as he ripped into the stationary.

She was a known Castor, the most powerful in the land, and was one of three others. Magic lived within her; beauty, around, and everything she created, she created with good intention. With her discipline and benelovency, she had raised him--the only son of the fifth generation of Castors--to be the same. She loved her grandson with all her heart, and had little reason not to spoil him on special occasions. It was evident in the smile on Yunho's face that his very perfect life was more than it could ever be. He was the pride of the Castors. Strong with his hands and sure with his judgment, Jung Yunho was everything they hoped for.

But it was his solitude that worried his grandmother the most. Yunho spent more time in the forest running among animals rather than his fellow people, and she hoped he would not grow up to be clueless to the people's needs.

Yunho knew his grandmother's grief; he knew that his wild and spirited ways made her mind wrap in worry. He couldn't help the pull to the forest with its symphony of life and colors, and as he ran with his kite trailing trascendly behind him, a fox and owl following a few steps behind, he could only guess what his grandmother was doing. It was extremely unusual for her to usher him towards the forest, especially when she had always preferred for him to meddle in the town's square instead of rolling around in the dirt trails of the trees. He had been curious and distraught; he knew his grandmother was hiding something from him.

Brushing it aside, he followed her suggestion and skipped to the clearings, knowing all too well that his grandmother had her reasons.

Instead of worrying, he decided to dispense his thoughts by withdrawing the utensils in his drawsack. He didn't have his casting lessons today, but he managed to sneak parchment and colors into his drawsack before leaving towards the forest.His grandmother would frown at him casting without surveillance. Despite being a natural born castor, and cultivated in the art since the age of five, it was still highly dangerous to use the wordly magic on a whim, and his grandma had always sighed over just how much whim he possessed.

He slowed to a halt and, collecting the kite that slowly drifted down to him, plopped himself onto the ground. His fox, Kint, and his owl, Fi, circled around him, pooling next to his frame as he grabbed at his sack and pulled out the contents. He always carried his brush set. It was his pride and joy. His grandmother had drawn him the set during his first lesson, the handles a rich alabaster and the bristles the finest of fur. He took out the smallest brush, the color shining blue against the sun, and began to draw.

"I wonder what grandmother wanted to do today," he mused, looking up at his companions and down onto his painting. He did quick onto the parchment. Craning his head at a difficult angle, one of which hurt his neck, he processed to draw.

"Was she having one of those grownup talks?" he asked himself. His grandmother usually did business with the nobles, at times telling him to go into his room and close the door. Whenever they wanted something to quench their fancy, they went to her. Her hand was the steadiest of the land, but age was creeping up on her limbs and it wouldn't be too long before Yunho had to take her place. He was sure his hand was up to par with hers (he did learn everything he knew from her), and as he sat back to admire his work, he could only grin in triumph at his creation. What stared back at him was a clipper butterfly, its wings stilled in a flapping motion on the paper. Blues and cyans danced across blackened wings, causing a surge of excitement to course through his frame. He couldn't wait to see the colors in motion!

Standing up, he held the parchment against the light of the sun, its rays spanning across the parchment and illiciting a mosiac of the ocean. Slowly he lifted his hand and palmed the parchment, his fingers lying against the rough brown stationery and fanning across his masterpiece. Sighing in satisfaction, he willed everything in him and pushed through his fingers; he pushed his soul and love against the parchment and heard the satisfying rip of paper as his hand plummeted through. From the emergence of his hand through the ripped stationary, the drawing took flight, alive and moving as it fluttered in the air, its colors an anomaly against the forest's hues.

He could only watch in awe as it drifted onto his shoulder, down his arm, and back into the air. The butterfly danced around his frame, as if thanking Yunho for giving it life. It wasn't until his gaze followed the trail of the butterfly's flight that he realized the subtle orange and purple hues on the horizons.

"It is getting late," he sighed, noticing the streaks of light barely passing the thick undergrowth of the trees. He turned to gather his belongings and took off towards home, a smile on his lips as he departed from his forest friends.

"Gran, I'm home," he greeted, but did not receive an answer. "Grandma?" he asked, treading past the opened door and towards her room. Nearing, he stopped abruptly as a brilliant flash met his vision. He watched as green light seeped past the crevices of her door, fluttering in and out as it lit up the inside of her room. He knew she was casting, excitement exuding within him as he padded softly to the door, pushing just slightly so he could have a good view of her work.

She was hunched over a long piece of parchment, longer than most she used. Her hand ghosted over the paper, her brush a sliver of peach as she drew with the most intensity he had ever seen her aging hands moved. He wondered what she was doing, and his mind halted in confusion when she lifted up the parchment. A mutual breath drew out of them both as their gaze centered on the drawing, soft peach and red with a touch of khol black.

What was going on?

Gentle hands caress the back of the parchment, as if to straddle the drawing. It was like a whisper, the movements that his Gran did. He watched as she pressed her lips against the picture, watched as she breathed in her love, and he could only stumble back a few steps as her lips broke through the drawing and the ripped parchment fluttered to the ground, the creation pooled inside her loving hold.

He fell back, stunned. 

"Come in, Yunho," he heard her whisper, her words choking in emotions as the first sound erupted from the creation. A soft wail emitted from the glowing being, skin the color of powder glowed a flushed pink against the warm oil lamp.

"Grandmother?" he said uncertainly as he brushed past the door and over to her. His hands grazed against the creation, skimming the soft expanse of skin before his little fingers cupped the rounded cheeks of the being his grandmother has brought to life.

"Say hi to your baby brother, Yunho," his grandmother whispered, and he could only choke back a sob because this creation--his baby brother--was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

Is the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.