07-29-2019, 06:38 PM
The worry that she had seen in Lethy’s eyes does nto go unnoticed. Lepis makes no mention of it though, recognizing well the attempt to keep it veiled. There is enough in her own past that she does not feel comfortable sharing. She does’nt intend to pry where Izora Lethia does not wish. And she is not long left in quiet contemplation, for the buckskin mare soon begins to speak. The Comtesse listens with interest as the other mare recounts the happenings. The naem Rae is not one she knows, but the small smile arouses some curisoty. Lepis thinks she knows that look, but it does not mesh with the assumtpion that she had made earleir about Lethy and Aten.
Then Lethy mentions having lost their child, and Lepis makes a soft noise of empathy. There is a black pitted stone on the beach of Loess, after all, where Lepis visits each spring in memory of her stillborn firstborn. There is nothing that quite numbs the ache of losing a child that had never even lived. There are things that make it forgettable – like the fire of revenge for the death of their younger sibling – but nothing makes it vanish entirely. She doubtd it ever will.
Once again, she is grateful for the chatter of the buckskin mare, for the mention of immortality brings a faint smile to the pegasus’ face despite the tone in which it had been mentioned.
“My mother is immortal,” she tells Lethy. “She never spoke of it much, but when we met for the first time in years, a few months ago, she looked more like my daughter than my mother.” Lepis is not old herself, barely a decade, but she is past the perpetual range of five and six in which the immortals seem most often to remain. There might be advantages to it, the tobiano thinks, but it is not a thing she would ever seek. Lethy smiles fondly at her next mention of Aten, and Lepis does the same, glad that the other mare seems to have found some semblance of contentment here in the Taiga.
That she would never expect Lepis to be here either brings a light chuckle to the navy-pointed mare.
“I wouldn’t either. The forest is not my favorite environ, if that wasn’t obvious.” she refers to her love of the sky that she’d recently mentioned, and gestures toward the canopy once more for good measure.
“After the Plague was cured, my family and I returned to Loess from where we had been staying – the Brilliant Pampas.” The quiet herdland was known as a refuge from the illness, and most of Loess had gone there during the worst of the illness. “Then the war came, and though it is ended now it was not without casualties. My son, Gale, was one of them.” She had mentioned their loss before, she knows, and does not linger on it longer than she must to include it in her tale.
“I am going to make sure that no other mother loses her child in such a way.” She says. “And coming to Taiga, even taking it from Aten, is part of how I mean to accomplish that.”
@[Izora Lethia]
Then Lethy mentions having lost their child, and Lepis makes a soft noise of empathy. There is a black pitted stone on the beach of Loess, after all, where Lepis visits each spring in memory of her stillborn firstborn. There is nothing that quite numbs the ache of losing a child that had never even lived. There are things that make it forgettable – like the fire of revenge for the death of their younger sibling – but nothing makes it vanish entirely. She doubtd it ever will.
Once again, she is grateful for the chatter of the buckskin mare, for the mention of immortality brings a faint smile to the pegasus’ face despite the tone in which it had been mentioned.
“My mother is immortal,” she tells Lethy. “She never spoke of it much, but when we met for the first time in years, a few months ago, she looked more like my daughter than my mother.” Lepis is not old herself, barely a decade, but she is past the perpetual range of five and six in which the immortals seem most often to remain. There might be advantages to it, the tobiano thinks, but it is not a thing she would ever seek. Lethy smiles fondly at her next mention of Aten, and Lepis does the same, glad that the other mare seems to have found some semblance of contentment here in the Taiga.
That she would never expect Lepis to be here either brings a light chuckle to the navy-pointed mare.
“I wouldn’t either. The forest is not my favorite environ, if that wasn’t obvious.” she refers to her love of the sky that she’d recently mentioned, and gestures toward the canopy once more for good measure.
“After the Plague was cured, my family and I returned to Loess from where we had been staying – the Brilliant Pampas.” The quiet herdland was known as a refuge from the illness, and most of Loess had gone there during the worst of the illness. “Then the war came, and though it is ended now it was not without casualties. My son, Gale, was one of them.” She had mentioned their loss before, she knows, and does not linger on it longer than she must to include it in her tale.
“I am going to make sure that no other mother loses her child in such a way.” She says. “And coming to Taiga, even taking it from Aten, is part of how I mean to accomplish that.”
@[Izora Lethia]
