all the weight of my intentions; warrick, any

[isle]

There had been a time when the voices filled her thoughts like ghosts in the night, leaving her haunted and ragged, too hollow to breathe. She had found solace in another, in someone who had been a balm on her ruined soul, a pillar of strength when all she could do was crumble beneath an impossible weight. He had filled her so completely that there had been no room for anything else. Not the voices - not even the dread that they might return, that her head would split from sleepless nights and wicked thoughts that weren’t her own.

But now without him, without that love to lean into, she’s learned to welcome the noise. It’s better than what would be there otherwise, dark thoughts latched like burrs, of missing him, of missing her family. Knowing that there are children, little pieces of her heart that have grown up without her. They’ll be strangers now, strangers with her face and his eyes, her wild and his temper. Strangers she will recognize but not know.

She doesn’t even realize that she’s come down from the mountains to find them until she crosses that wall of thick, familiar humidity. Until the air stinks of smoke and brimstone, and the fauna at her shoulders is deep and rich and a shade of green that even jewels would be envious of. It’s strange that after so long, she still has this island mapped, still remembers the trails that cut through the lava streams and carry her deeper into the beating heart of this living land. She remembers other trails, too. One that would take her to a shallow stone den she does not wish to revisit, does not want to remember. Instead she moves east, those dark wild eyes changed but still beautiful, guarded.

isle has mind reading, so if there's anything you don't want her to know just say so <3 <3 <3

[Warrick]

we are crooked souls trying to stay up straight

Death - the looming, dark shadow of it has cloaked itself across Tephra, and bridled itself to the Overseer’s tired face. It pools in the crevices beneath his eyes, stained from hot tears and lack of sleep. He is disheveled and perhaps a little misplaced in this moment, his mind still reeling over the news of Diable Rouge, as well as the reality of the permanence of Offspring’s (and Ellyse’s) quiet, goodbye-less departure. Coupled with the sting of loss and sleepless nights, the winged-bay can also feel the ever tightening grip of duty coiling around his throat, pressing into him with urgency. There are dealings to be made, children to watch out for, and newcomers to introduce into the fray (though he has had help - Wound and Amorette both seem to have lightened the load, with a gentle willingness). The grief on his face seems to overwhelm any of the other thoughts that could possibly come to the surface, a weary and heavy-laden look brought onto the sharp and hardened shape of his features.

It is with unpurposeful steps that he comes to find her (or perhaps she has found him). He has halted, his brow furrowing a bit confusedly as he tilts his head, his blue gaze flickering off past the bay and alabaster woman. Maybe he had originally been searching for Tangerine, but his mind has gotten him sidetracked and for a moment he stares away from her, bewildered - where had he been headed, again? Is there something he needs to do? Where is Wishbone? Then, as the haziness of his thoughts come into focus, he allows everything else to fall away and to meet her gaze, realizing in an instant that he recognizes the irises that stare back at him.

He cannot, however, place her in his mind the way she resonates in his heart. She is poignant and memorable, though a name is lost on his lips - he remembers a woman curling into his auburn side when he is much less (very much less) than he is now, with those same wild and enchanting eyes that permeate into him now. He is different than perhaps she had last seen him - not only does the great navy of feathered wings signal his change, but in his eyes and his face, and the crown that has been passed down from many others to now be worn by him alone.

It seems that the darkness that has cloaked Tephra has brought out memories and lost faces from the shadows.

For a moment, he wonders, will the others appear with her as well?

Warrick snorts softly, relaxing his face (though no amount of stoicness will hide the bitter look of grief from his features) with a small yet warm smile. His wings twitch and flutter slightly in a way that is soothing to him, keeping his mind off the neverending tyraid of thoughts in his mind.

“You’ve returned,” he murmurs, though wordless he adds: Had you ever left?

Warrick