She is stunned by how quickly things seem to unravel in such few, short moments, only has time to examine these new faces as bodies settle on either side of a very firm line drawn between these two groups. It is confusing to her, perhaps even a little overwhelming for a woman who had known first the freedom of the meadow, and then the lawlessness of the forests. She has never learned politics, certainly not war, but this feels like something fragile and caught in between, a moment tipped at the edge of a precipice and ready to fall, ready to shatter.
She longs to go stand with Kharon, to touch her lips to his shoulder and brush the hurt from his expression, the dark from those beautiful eyes. But there is no moment where he steps close enough, no lull where such a thing wouldn’t draw attention. So she remains quiet, silent as stone and with dark eyes that drift from face to face with the movement of their voices.
It is Tiphon that startles her the most, though. The belief of what she thought him to be suddenly crushed by the reality of the man who tells his people to leave. “I don’t understand.” She says softly, suddenly, her brow furrowed so deep beneath the tangles of a dark forelock. The illusion of her wings ripple as surprise breaks her focus for a few, thudding beats of her heart. “I’ve been here with my family for over a year. I’ve made friends here, I’ve raised my children here, I even helped plan the recent festivities. I have made this my home, and I’m not the only one.”
She pauses, those words still soft but with a quiet fire simmering somewhere beneath, a firmess to the gentle of her quiet heart. “This man,” and she pauses another beat, her eyes shifting from Tiphon to Castile to examine the face of this dark new stranger, note again the lazy violence in the shade of his eyes and the blood smeared around his mouth, “he is a stranger to us. It wasn’t our leader who informed us of the change, we weren’t even asked.” She tries so hard to keep her voice soft, to keep the accusation out of it because the only thing she’s fighting is for a safe place to raise her children, a home with someone she can trust. “We heard your screams, Tiphon.” It is so quietly, barely a whisper as her eyes find his face again. “How can you expect us to blindly put our faith in someone who has only shown us that he is violent?”
She thinks of her children, of sweet Merry who would have enough sense not to cross a dragon in his wrath, of Dark who would only want to hear their stories and learn the tales of their family. She has less faith in her wild boy, her Dustov. He is a child, he is reckless and impulsive. He is her entire world, each of them are. Her love for them is limitless, as is the fierce need to protect them from anything she sees as a danger. “You have given us no reason to accept you.” She says more firmly now to the tobiano man, though her voice is still as gentle as it has always been, still soft and silver like the light glowing beneath her skin. “All you have shown us is violence and force, and that the concerns of those already living here in the sanctuary are not as important as your own needs.”
