08-30-2018, 01:29 PM
For a few blissful moments, I’d forgotten about Hyaline entirely. Focused on my search for Castile, thoughts of the mountainous kingdom and their political ineptitude had been entirely absent.
Yet there is a flutter of wings behind me as I call, and I spin ‘round to find not my Uncle, but the white Hyalinite that I’d left behind. To call the expression I wear a scowl is to do scowls a disservice; there’s far more fury than disappointment. Perhaps Ilma thinks a few hours might have softened my position, but it is clear from the dark ears now nestled in my navy mane that the very opposite is true. She mentions I’d made good on my promise, and the scowl fades away to something closer to incredulity. What about our conversation would have possibly made her think I wouldn’t carry out my promise?
Had I known Ilma still harbored thoughts of reparation, my anger would have been softened. I am not at heart an angry creature, but there are some lines that even the most soft-hearted cannot stand to see crossed. As it is, what I hear are threats to drag me back (as if she could, this mare who won’t fight!) and condescension.
”What I want is for you to let me go before I actually do something to merit the threat your queens made.” The words are steely despite my now-neutral expression, and I’ve briefly forgotten my search for Castile entirely. ”Because I guarantee if you attempt to drag me back anywhere, it will be the last thing you ever do.” There, at last I’ve made genuine threats. I’d tried to avoid them, but the storm and the situation have taken too much out of me, and I am weary of parrying words with a diplomat who never seems to say anything new.
I would have said more (the words rage heavy at the back of my tongue), but our dripping clearing is soon filled by another horse. This time it is the one I’d been looking for, and the smile with which I great him is nothing less than brilliant. It doesn’t fade, not even when it becomes clear that he knows Ilma. His next inquiry is about Hyaline, and there is a long-forgotten sensation of petulance as I suddenly recall scoldings of the past. This time I’d done a little more than childish pranks (carefully surround him with cacti as he’d slept or rolled in the mud before meeting with visiting diplomats), but my sense of righteousness doesn’t fade.
”They’ve been busy lately.” I reply. ”I attempted one perfectly friendly steal”(that’s how it had been intended anyway, it’s not my fault they overreacted before attempting conversation). ”And now Solace and Kagerus have threatened war, Ilma has taken me captive for an entire year, refuses to discuss terms, and now she seems to be stalking me to make sure I can’t contact my child or mate.”
Here I shift my weight, a subtle move that nevertheless blocks Ilma from the conversation. She could easily move, of course, but the pettiness is satisfying, even if ultimately unproductive. I consider asking where he has been, what he has been doing. But my own experience with that question makes me hesitant; I certainly do not want to delve into what he has missed in my life during his time away.
Instead I settle for stretching out my muzzle to press it gently against his shoulder. ”I missed you,” I say, and though I try to mask it, there is a trace of sadness in my blue-grey eyes. ”Are you back to stay, or just to visit?” I want it to be the latter; when he had disappeared I had lost the last of my family, my mother having vanished months earlier. There is so much to tell him - good things, things like Arthas and Wolfbane and the New Loess, like my son.
@[Castile]
@[Ilma]
sorry for spellings; I’m on my phone!
Yet there is a flutter of wings behind me as I call, and I spin ‘round to find not my Uncle, but the white Hyalinite that I’d left behind. To call the expression I wear a scowl is to do scowls a disservice; there’s far more fury than disappointment. Perhaps Ilma thinks a few hours might have softened my position, but it is clear from the dark ears now nestled in my navy mane that the very opposite is true. She mentions I’d made good on my promise, and the scowl fades away to something closer to incredulity. What about our conversation would have possibly made her think I wouldn’t carry out my promise?
Had I known Ilma still harbored thoughts of reparation, my anger would have been softened. I am not at heart an angry creature, but there are some lines that even the most soft-hearted cannot stand to see crossed. As it is, what I hear are threats to drag me back (as if she could, this mare who won’t fight!) and condescension.
”What I want is for you to let me go before I actually do something to merit the threat your queens made.” The words are steely despite my now-neutral expression, and I’ve briefly forgotten my search for Castile entirely. ”Because I guarantee if you attempt to drag me back anywhere, it will be the last thing you ever do.” There, at last I’ve made genuine threats. I’d tried to avoid them, but the storm and the situation have taken too much out of me, and I am weary of parrying words with a diplomat who never seems to say anything new.
I would have said more (the words rage heavy at the back of my tongue), but our dripping clearing is soon filled by another horse. This time it is the one I’d been looking for, and the smile with which I great him is nothing less than brilliant. It doesn’t fade, not even when it becomes clear that he knows Ilma. His next inquiry is about Hyaline, and there is a long-forgotten sensation of petulance as I suddenly recall scoldings of the past. This time I’d done a little more than childish pranks (carefully surround him with cacti as he’d slept or rolled in the mud before meeting with visiting diplomats), but my sense of righteousness doesn’t fade.
”They’ve been busy lately.” I reply. ”I attempted one perfectly friendly steal”(that’s how it had been intended anyway, it’s not my fault they overreacted before attempting conversation). ”And now Solace and Kagerus have threatened war, Ilma has taken me captive for an entire year, refuses to discuss terms, and now she seems to be stalking me to make sure I can’t contact my child or mate.”
Here I shift my weight, a subtle move that nevertheless blocks Ilma from the conversation. She could easily move, of course, but the pettiness is satisfying, even if ultimately unproductive. I consider asking where he has been, what he has been doing. But my own experience with that question makes me hesitant; I certainly do not want to delve into what he has missed in my life during his time away.
Instead I settle for stretching out my muzzle to press it gently against his shoulder. ”I missed you,” I say, and though I try to mask it, there is a trace of sadness in my blue-grey eyes. ”Are you back to stay, or just to visit?” I want it to be the latter; when he had disappeared I had lost the last of my family, my mother having vanished months earlier. There is so much to tell him - good things, things like Arthas and Wolfbane and the New Loess, like my son.
@[Castile]
@[Ilma]
sorry for spellings; I’m on my phone!
