Noel had never been terribly good at heeding borders, even before she had unconsciously settled in the deep forests of Taiga. She had often found herself on the cliffs overlooking Nerine’s rocky beaches, peering in puzzlement as vague memories replayed in her mind. She still does, though her thoughts linger far more often on her children (and their father) than the childhood she had left in the dust long ago.
She supposes it hardly matters, in any case. With Nash’s brother now leading the moorlands (a fact she still struggles to wrap her head around. He is the same age as her twin daughters, and they seem hardly old enough for such responsibility, though she can’t admit to knowing him particularly well), she’s quite certain no one really cares that she still wanders the cliffs on a fairly regular basis.
They are particularly good for flight, as it happens.
That is just what is on her mind today in fact, when she finds herself peering at an unfamiliar form. She draws slowly to a halt, staring with faint consternation at the figure whose attention seems captured by a flock of stone sheep. Her glowing footsteps (which, to her surprise and chagrin, had appeared when the sun returned) fade slowly into obscurity behind her.
Noel is considering quietly moving away to leave the other woman to her own musings when her voice, clearly muttered to no one in particular, drifts to her on the slight breeze. She almost laughs at the sentiment. Deciding she would be remiss if she didn’t warn her (her own children had already tried and failed to herd the stubborn beasts), she moves forward to a more conversational distance. “I wouldn’t,” she replies, wry amusement in the low tones of her voice. “Unless you enjoy bruised knees.”
- noel
@[Anuya]