 ***There is silence here. A confined and stark silence. Where some may find it eerie or oppressive in its sheer weight, she finds it peaceful. It contains a throng of soft, woody voices — grown in queer quiet, these things become dull and sleepy. But they are there: The rustle of leaves above, the groan of a younger tree shifting in the breeze. and the crack of a twig (mercifully clear, a warning sign; rabbits retreat to their dens below, safe). But, though it seems so comfortable in this green hall, silence is not inherent here. As the sun inclines its face, voices and passerine trills will fill the empty spaces between tree trunks. Copses of breath and laughter, disturbing the tranquility with the splendor of animation. ***She glances up, head on a tilt. Soft, sun-exposed green filters in rays of strong, red-golden light. The sun is somewhere distant, just above the horizon. Its perspective throws peculiar shade and bright stipples on the ground. Here and there, animals stretch and flowers yawn their petals open to pollinators. It is a slow awakening, a dawn chorus playing an imperceptible shift; the nocturnal tuck into themselves and others, and the matutinal take the throne. ***She lifts her fine head, ears swerving back. Across the soft dirt and grass, a padded ghost creeps. She snorts a soft warning, wide, brown eyes blinking into the mossy air. But it is gone all without being seen, perhaps already sated or otherwise unsure of its chances with something so much bigger that itself. Her tail flicks across her dappled hind, and she resumes picking at the dewy grass. Vineine is nothing if not harmonious — small, pink-grey, neither fine-boned nor cobby, but something gracefully substantial and light; she breaths with the oaks and birches, each half-step she takes sinks her further into the musky dirt, and around her saplings and asters find company in her wake. ***She is not made for it, but of it. The same stuff but breathing and blood-filled. ***Here is a delicious solitude, and there an expectant flutter in her breast. A waiting sigh in between chews. She inhales, and the air is sweet and floral, it reminds her of a place she used to call home. Long ago, now kept in the loving and curious embrace of memory. Once she had wondered if it was forever, but she knew it never would be. Or never could be. She had curled into its embrace twice, and each time she had found warmth and welcome there. A pause in her life, and a constant joy in her mind. ****‘...Herself in the Heavens, her beam on the waves.’ |
PS: If you want to 'power-play' (so to speak) anything about their past in your post feel free. They certainly would have seen each other around the Gates, but as for whether or not their breeding was like a one night thing, or if they ever spoke before (technically, they never did thread, sooo), I guess that's just up to us to make up lol. We can say that she was maybe around for a bit after they did the sex, but disappeared before she would have started looking preggo.
And I don't know how this fits into Fiero in the process of meeting Trystane. Because yeah, that kind of matters, doesn't it? Either way has its complications
Maybe the easiest thing is: we can make it before and he doesn't ask and she doesn't tell because reasons I'm sure I can come up with. It could be an elephant in the room between them, but because they are just re-meeting neither can find the way to bring it up? Fiero wondering if she ended up pregnant at all, and Vineine knowing that Fiero has a son. Then when they meet again after the reunion thread he can be like "you did not tell why exactly, woman?" .... although them meeting before the reunion thread doesn't really work with what you posted... I'm maybe overthinking this, but this whole family storyline is life for me right now haha.