ghost of the mist, keep your ancient tryst
back to the lone lane of the sea, slip silently
The ghostmother stood quietly for a while under the warm light of day, her blue eyes sweeping, her hair dancing gently. She sees nothing but craggy rocks and gangly tree life for a while, soon though, she can see Aela’s soft colors. She’s grown, Kota smiles a smile much like the one Aela has; warm, familiar, and for the moment, satisfied just to see the girl well and alive.
Sometimes the pale mare will lament that maybe she had robbed the child of learning how to use her voice in full. Like any ghost, even if she isn’t truly one, she is mostly silent save for when she chooses her words well. Her voice goes unused most of the time, but if she’s ever spoken to anyone the most, it would be her daughters most certainly – or perhaps her father too. She’s never spoken to her real mother, or not that she can recall anyway. She only remembers the slide of her mother’s snakeskin patterns passed her blurry newborn vision, the taste of her mother’s milk and the warmth of her underbelly, but no words. She fears, somewhere deep and quiet inside of her, that she may have done something wrong by raising Aela and Let in near silence as she stalked through the fog with them. It certainly doesn’t matter now, they’re both grown. Would it be different with the next child growing in her womb? Probably not.
When the echoes hit Kota’s body sinks into a more slack posture, her eyes closing and her lungs taking in a rush of fresh air. She moves through the echoes like one moves through a dream, the sounds tinny and bounce around, the images are clear and then smeared. The mother has never seen Pangea’s innards before, it’s always been such an ominous place in Beqanna, and truthfully the overo mare has never known the politics of the Kingdoms, which puts her at risk for doing the wrong thing (or so she thinks). Ghosts do not concern themselves into the politics of leaders and pupils.
“Aela,” she murmurs through the smile pulling at her pink lips. When the girl comes close enough, she bumps that rosy muzzle of hers across her pretty face, her shoulder and ribs, sniffing, checking her. She takes another deep breath of relief to see that her child has all of her limbs and no festering wounds (that she can see). “Impressive.” she refers to the echoes that brought her visions of Pangea’s sentinels, among many other features of the mysterious valley. “You’re well then? I hope.” her voice is quiet like the breeze, but Aela should know how to pick it up well, as she always has.
~ for @[Aela].
i wasn't sure if we wanted to pretend the end of the world happens AFTER their reunion or during.
feel free to include the darkness or not, i can go either way <3
