05-02-2018, 11:55 PM
The new world is less to her liking than the old.
Not the land itself, exactly; Father has found a perfectly lovely chain of islands that are as warm year-round as the Tundra was cool. But Alonwy hadn’t been entirely keen on the society itself in Ischia, before the Brotherhood returned; there was just not that much to live for. She’d kept to the fringes, and she wasn’t the only one. She’s not entirely sure Krone and Klaudius had even an inkling of how many of Brennen’s children drifted in and out, drawn to him like moths to the light or fish to the sea.
This particular child had come out of the woodwork since her father ascended the throne, because she could see a purpose for herself again, as he often ran out of hours in the day, and found himself once more knee-deep in true younglings, while trying to stay on top of the business of ruling. Enter Alonwy: edging towards a title as a spinster, but truly an experienced big sister. This lot, though, is truly a challenge. There’s the twins, with their fire and their constant minor squabbling. And little Grye, whose quiet countenance hides a mischievous streak a mile wide. Last but not least, the only filly of the bunch, bright and rambunctious Khaeli.
Today, she only has Khaeli. The boys are off somewhere - with Belgaer, perhaps, or Father - and she’d volunteered to give Galilee some time to rest. She’s growing round with Father’s child again already as winter hits, their fifth, and often overextends tending towards the herd of almost-yearlings. Alonwy is resigned but not particularly surprised when she finds herself chasing Khaeli from the ground, only the luck of low tide and the filly’s announcement of her destination allowing the pinto to keep from being left behind. She’s completely out of breath when they come to a halt, the little appaloosa turning around with a great big grin.
Alonwy isn’t grinning, she’s fuming and trying to catch her breath. “Khaeli,” she hisses, flicking her honey-brown eyes this way and that, trying to look everywhere at once. “What were you thinking? You know we’re not supposed to leave the Island.” Unlike the majority of her father’s children, Alonwy had truly never taken to the warrior arts. Not that it kept Father from training her, but she was slow and sometimes clumsy and just plain uninspired; his best hope is that she can halfway defend herself until someone else allows her to run away. She’s certainly not equipped to defend herself and her little sister, not this tired. “C’mon, we need to go home - quickly, if you please, and sneaky. We can make it a game - who can sneak the best?” It’s a tactic best used with younger children, but the pinto is desperate.
She doesn’t want them to be found here, alone in the chilly winter day.
