In a few short minutes, the world had changed, shifted irrevocably. A place that had previously felt like a sanctuary now felt like a graveyard full of ghosts. Full of the shattered pieces of harmony and innocence. At least there had been no casualties. But when the tree had been poisoned and burned and those thick branches had wilted, the roots buckling and heaving beneath their feet, Ilka had felt the poison seeping into her heart. Her chest felt heavy with it now, cold, as the poison buried itself in the pit of her chest and bled black into her veins. She could feel it there, the doubt, and it burned like ash beneath her skin.
Worse had been Erebor, her cousin, and the betrayal she had felt when their eyes meet for just a brief, meaningless second in time. He had disappeared then, abruptly, impossibly, and it was a sense of uneasy relief that echoed within the trembling of her bones. Worse still was the scent of the Chamber on her skin, faint and faded now, but buried there tauntingly beneath the scent of grass and earth and rain. It felt like treachery.
When Ledger appears at the edge of the clearing it draws her attention immediately. He seems vaguely familiar, like she’s seen him before, but it isn’t until the second (who she had seen fighting for the Gates in the ashy chaos) approaches him without intensity that she realizes she had seen him in passing here and not at the Chamber. For a moment she tenses, indecision wrapping cold fingers around the ache of her heart, but something pulls her towards them. A kinship she needs so desperately in the wake of disaster.
She reaches them quickly and presses her nose briefly to Kronk’s shoulder in quiet greeting. He smells like ash and sweat and there are charred scuffs of soot smeared against the chestnut and white. When her eyes lift to Ledger’s, a brown so pale they’re nearly gold, she flinches without meaning to. The destruction there is different than what she had witnessed on some of the other horses. The raw red lines stretched over his empty socket reminded her of claw marks. Reflexively she wants to ask if he’s alright, but the question fades before it even reaches her lips. Of course he isn’t, none of them are.
So when Kronk asks his questions, Ilka remains silent, those brown eyes soft and wide beneath a furrowed brow. It was hard for her to find words right now, to say something when the weight of what had happened felt like a crushing burden heaped on her shoulders. But as the silence stretches and the ache in her chest deepens, a question comes unbidden in a voice barely louder than a whisper, “Will you be alright?”.
ILKA
makai x oksana