i will breathe the air (topsail + any family)

[Camelia]

I will run the streets and hostile lands, I will touch the rain with all I have
I will breathe the air, to scream it loud. My feet will never touch the ground.

The ground crunches under Camelia’s feet. Although autumn has only just arrived, it seems this part of Beqanna has accepted it wholeheartedly. There is a certain chilly atmosphere surrounding it that is the complete opposite of Heaven’s Gates. It drives straight past her skin and into her bones, leaving a deep ache of cold and mild fear. She knows she shouldn’t worry; she knows she shouldn’t be concerned with her own mortality. After all, despite being an awful mother to her second child, she still birthed her. Hopefully that would still sway Topsail from tearing her mother to shreds on the spot.

The dunskin mare shudders, her warm eyes warily glancing around. The Valley is the opposite of the Gates in every single way. Light struggles to make its way through – she has come in the early morning, with the sun just barely escaping the embrace of the horizon – and the trees reach twisted arms up to the sky. There is a biting breeze that tears across her sides when she is not within the shelter of the forest. Camelia’s heart longs for her dear homeland, but her determination to speak with her daughter keeps her feet moving.

She doesn’t cross the border, old instincts and strongly-secured manners keeping her close but never past. She scents wolves in the distance and that partially keeps her feet beside the strong trunk she leans against. The journey has been long and tiring on her aging body; despite her mind in perhaps its finest form, her muscles are weak and her joints are achy. She rests her body against the side of the tree, catching her breath for a brief moment before she stretches her mind to reach for her beloved, hopelessly lost daughter.

Camelia

[Eight]

It almost seems as if the dark seasons are forever upon the Valley. She welcomes the cold, the dying fauna, the early sunsets - she revels in them, as do her residents. It could be the cliche rule that ‘evil’ beings wrap themselves in the dark and shadows, that they make love to the cold air that reflects their heart. It is a chill that weaves around your body like the Devil’s snake in the forbidden tree. There is no escaping it.
It is morning - the silent hours in which Eight seems to find the most peace. His time as a king has been short thus far, but it is a constant task - diplomatic visits, training the army, greeting visitors. It was not a new task - he had ruled before, but there were moments where he missed the solace of his role as guardian. The days where he was only needed when turmoil arose, when injuries needed healing, when trouble needed rising. Now, it was the ins and outs of diplomacy and ruling - something he wished he could say I’m too old for this, but there is no age when you are a magician.
It is quiet, the only sound the crunch of leaves underfoot. THe light is dim, the sun's rays prying through the foliage overhead painting the air a dusky color.. The air is crisp, clouds billowing with heavy breath. No, Eight did not expect a soul to be alive in this early hour, and yet as his black form appeared and reappeared through the jagged line of trees, a pinprick of life jolted through his body. He was not the only one awake.
He lifts his head, unnecessarily of course - he did not see this with his eyes, but with his mind. Closing his eyes briefly, he conjures the figure in his mind - a woman settled against a tree, slight discomfort in her mind, but struggling to reassure herself. Opening them, Eight disappears from his refuge amongst the trees and appears feet away from the woman.
Before Topsail’s decision, Eight would have reacted much differently. He wasn’t quite evil per say, but there was a chaotic streak in him, a knack to reach to his whims, to watch them dance in fear and fright. Your discomfort would not necessarily fill him with glee, but it would simply be another open door to entertain his bored mind. And yet now, he was a king (such a strange title for him once again) - and now, he acted as a leader of the Valley, and behaviors must be attended to.
He stands before you, still on the treeline (and yet just visible to you), like, a wolf lurking in wait. He studies you, his dark eyes drinking you in, reaching for each thought in your mind. Well, well - if it isn’t his children’s grandmother. A strange face indeed. Now, Eight and Topsail were not the romantic type. If anything, their mating had been brutal in a most boring sort of way. There was no passion between them, and perhaps even hardly a kinship - it was just a mutual understanding that between the two of them, the world could be theirs. And while Eight does not act as any sort of guardian to the Queen, he was the King - and a guardian of the Valley - and so felt at least some sort of responsibility.
“The prodigal mother, perhaps?” He slides from the shadows towards you. “I suppose you are looking for my queen?” and another step - “And yet you have found me.”