05-24-2018, 10:47 PM
haze like a fever
i fell like a dreamer for sweet tea and lemonade; it clings to my t-shirt it’s loud and it lingers, designed to suffocate. i light up to find what i’ve known all this time, there’s some beauty here yet
As Merida’s eyes find the gray horizon, Wishbone’s amber gaze moves as well. There is no denying Nerine’s rustic beauty — although it is not tropical (like Ischia) or forested (like Sylva), it holds its own honest appeal in the rugged cut of the cliffs and the roar of the ocean below it. There is something lusty and rigorous about the kingdom’s landscape and Wishbone finds it very easily calls to the equally lusty and rigorous pieces of her soul.
Her chest warms with pride for the kingdom even while this newcomer gives her a supposed cold-shoulder. Wishbone is hardly bothered by anything and, with the calculating expression Merida had been giving her only moments before, she can only assume the red-flecked mare has made up her mind with whatever presumptions she might have. Besides, the wilderness of Nerine is certainly more appealing to the eye than Wishbone’s own mahogany, feminine face (an opinion which varies depending on the individual you might speak to).
“It’s true.” Where there are Leviathans now, there used to be Amazons — whereas both kingdoms, filled with strong women, are led by a strong woman. “We are the Amazons reborn as the Leviathans.” The word feels firm but sure on her tongue, like an unfamiliar warrior cry that holds the future of becoming a favorite song. “Men are allowed in Nerine, but only women have led the Leviathans.” She falls silent, her own amber eyes catching the oncoming shadows of thunderclouds in the distance. A low rumble sounds above their heads and, once it has passed, Wishbone gives a low, exhausted sigh.
“If it doesn’t stop raining soon, Nerine will be washed into the sea.” Her honey-whisky voice is dipped with humor, but thoughts of getting wet all over again add a depressive rhythm to her tune.
Her chest warms with pride for the kingdom even while this newcomer gives her a supposed cold-shoulder. Wishbone is hardly bothered by anything and, with the calculating expression Merida had been giving her only moments before, she can only assume the red-flecked mare has made up her mind with whatever presumptions she might have. Besides, the wilderness of Nerine is certainly more appealing to the eye than Wishbone’s own mahogany, feminine face (an opinion which varies depending on the individual you might speak to).
“It’s true.” Where there are Leviathans now, there used to be Amazons — whereas both kingdoms, filled with strong women, are led by a strong woman. “We are the Amazons reborn as the Leviathans.” The word feels firm but sure on her tongue, like an unfamiliar warrior cry that holds the future of becoming a favorite song. “Men are allowed in Nerine, but only women have led the Leviathans.” She falls silent, her own amber eyes catching the oncoming shadows of thunderclouds in the distance. A low rumble sounds above their heads and, once it has passed, Wishbone gives a low, exhausted sigh.
“If it doesn’t stop raining soon, Nerine will be washed into the sea.” Her honey-whisky voice is dipped with humor, but thoughts of getting wet all over again add a depressive rhythm to her tune.
@[Merida]