Talulah;

[Talulah]

Heir.  The word rings in his head, grounds him with its gravity.  He’s always been a serious colt prone to over-thinking and analyzing.  He’s always felt he was made for more, that he should hold himself to a higher standard.  But never does he feel so because of his parents – who they are and what his father is – he simply wants to be the best he possibly can be.  Now, though, he takes in the Dale with newfound eyes.  His gold-flecked gaze dips into the valleys, rises across the peaks, outlining its intricacies and faults and committing them to memory.  The mantle of responsibility bears down on him then.  It is a heavy load on his young shoulders, but he welcomes the new weight with solemn determination.  Changes both internal and external compel him. Childhood is nearly over, after all.   Ramiel turns back towards his parents, a grim smile on his face (as if he already accepts the challenges of the future; as if he knows he is cut from unyielding silk).  At that moment, he looks nothing like the near two-year-old he is.  “Teach me, please.”  His ears strain forwards, as if Tiphon will divulge all of his knowledge immediately after.  “I want to know everything: about the Dale, about the kingdoms…” he wets his lips nervously, sparing his mother a glance.  “I want to know about our family, too.”  She had told him not to ask his father about his side of the family.  She had warned him that it was a sensitive topic for Tiphon, that it might not be a history he is willing to reveal just yet.  But Ramiel is desperately curious – perhaps to a fault – and he tries to ignore the hurt he’s never seen before in his mother’s eyes.  Hurt he hadn’t meant to cause, that he already regrets as he stands there abashed.   “You know of Erros and Adolpha, of Holliver, Alaunus and Maeva.”  Guilt radiates off her son, and wanting to lessen it, Talulah reminds him of her own history.  If Tiphon doesn’t want to share, she will spare him from feeling like he must.  The colt nods at her and sneaks a glance at his golden father, just in case.   Talulah feels the press of his head against her shoulder.  It’s like all of his weight is concentrated into that small area; all the pressure he has resisted over the last few months is felt in the gesture.  She’s glad he is letting her share the load, glad he is opening up all these years later.  For some reason, though, she worries that she is not enough.  She thinks that he’s needed more than the hard landing of her cold, hard skin (that the plethora of children of his that she is learning about is proof enough of his needs elsewhere).  Before he withdraws, she looks down at him.  In that moment, he looks so vulnerable, so at home against her – oblivious to the sharp lines of her inhospitable body.  But it ends all too soon. He mentions Tiberios and it is clear that his disappearance was the rotten root of all of his troubles.  She nods, as she knows the story but not the ending.  The fact that Tiphon had left the Dale to bring back one of their own shows his devotion to his family.  She will never question the lengths he will go to protect both her and Ramiel.  “Back home,” she adds to his list, smiling her happiness for the black sabino’s return.  “I only hope he is coping well enough.”  The king talks of magicians, of abilities she can’t begin to comprehend that he is fortunately resistant to.  Talulah hesitates to voice her concerns in front of their boy, but knowing his maturity, she decides to.  “It is a good thing you are impervious to their powers.  I think those changes you talked about loom ever-closer.  Even the meadow and field seem as if they are waiting for it.” t a l u l a h lady of the Dale

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