09-07-2016, 09:14 PM
“That mountain,” she continues, narrowing her eyes and searching the nooks and crannies of her memory. “That mountain wasn’t there…” Her gaze travels to the rocky tor that leers high above the treeline. It is a fair distance away, and still, she knows that its height is formidable, and its paths must be dangerous. This is not the Beqanna she knows. Her heart sinks, bottoming out as it swan dives from on high. As Lagertha turns to tell Wessex the disappointing news, she notices that her daughter is not where she previously was…
No, the girl has quietly placed herself between her mother and an approaching stallion. Wessex’s ears lay flat against her head, her neck extended to its full length, while her lips draw back to reveal unimpressive chompers. She’s learned that posturing is everything; bared teeth are a universal warning sign and in the Hell of her childhood, a quick warning can be enough to deter the smaller, very rank-oriented Beasts. He is also the first of her kind that Wessex has ever seen, and she’s seen the Monsters turn on each other when one goes down - how could she know that this one that approaches isn’t looking to do the same? And if she could growl, oh the sounds that would come crawling out of her throat - did her nights not echo with the screams of the feasting and fucking and dying? They were seared into her brain. Hard-wired to jump start her muscles.
Lagertha recognizes the massive stallion, of course. Not by voice, but by sight. Twin to Kratos, son of Vanquish. Ally. King of the Falls. There is only one like him. She may only know him passing well, but it is enough to make her call her daughter off. “Wessex, it’s alright. I know him.” But in the next instant, she reconsiders her statement. If this is not the real Beqanna, is that the real Kreios? How would she know if his words were false? Wessex half-minds her, until Lagertha draws up and steps past the black girl to answer his questions, and then shamelessly assail him with her own.
“Kreios. We are alive,” she says all too grimly, as if life and death were the measure of what ‘alright’ is these days. “We are no longer in the land Of Monsters and Men, so -” she pauses, torn between trying to explain herself and not caring if she sounds like a madwoman. “- so we will be fine. Kreios, are we… in Beqanna? The real Beqanna? I can’t feel the Jungle, and that Mountain definitely wasn’t there before.” Her eyes once again dart to the rocks that must reach so high into the air that it is hard to breathe. It is impossible to miss. Her tongue slips out to wetten her lips, before she begins again. “How long has it been since the Raid? Oh god, do not tell me they still got the Desert.” She’s on the verge of asking about his family when a long-lost scent pokes at her mind, drawing her attention away from her single-minded interrogation.
“Nayl,” she breathes, for she is the first Amazonian she has seen, and she does not seem to want to rip Lagertha’s throat out and charge her with abandonment. The black and white mare is both a savior and the bearer of the worst news possible; Lagertha practically chokes on her next breath. ”No -” she sputters, looking to Kreios for confirmation. It could not be! Their beautiful, beloved home? “No…” she whispers, hanging her head and closing her eyes. Was this her fault? Was it Lexa’s? Where was the Sister, who had clearly taken up the crown when Lagertha was hurled worlds away. Still, there is fight left in the scarred and weary battle-axe. She looks pointedly at Wessex, who is not quite following the whole conversation, though she was raised on stories of Beqanna and the Jungle. “We will never be extinct. To be an Amazon is to have a certain state of being. It cannot be limited to a place.”
Nayl demands action, and Lagertha cannot agree more, but oh, so is so goddamn tired. Lagertha doesn’t know if she can muster up the energy required to lead. With another breath into her gaunt chest, she turns to look at Kreios, asking him an unspoken question. The Falls? Their allies? “What is to be done?”
[im sorry i wrote a novel D: ]
No, the girl has quietly placed herself between her mother and an approaching stallion. Wessex’s ears lay flat against her head, her neck extended to its full length, while her lips draw back to reveal unimpressive chompers. She’s learned that posturing is everything; bared teeth are a universal warning sign and in the Hell of her childhood, a quick warning can be enough to deter the smaller, very rank-oriented Beasts. He is also the first of her kind that Wessex has ever seen, and she’s seen the Monsters turn on each other when one goes down - how could she know that this one that approaches isn’t looking to do the same? And if she could growl, oh the sounds that would come crawling out of her throat - did her nights not echo with the screams of the feasting and fucking and dying? They were seared into her brain. Hard-wired to jump start her muscles.
Lagertha recognizes the massive stallion, of course. Not by voice, but by sight. Twin to Kratos, son of Vanquish. Ally. King of the Falls. There is only one like him. She may only know him passing well, but it is enough to make her call her daughter off. “Wessex, it’s alright. I know him.” But in the next instant, she reconsiders her statement. If this is not the real Beqanna, is that the real Kreios? How would she know if his words were false? Wessex half-minds her, until Lagertha draws up and steps past the black girl to answer his questions, and then shamelessly assail him with her own.
“Kreios. We are alive,” she says all too grimly, as if life and death were the measure of what ‘alright’ is these days. “We are no longer in the land Of Monsters and Men, so -” she pauses, torn between trying to explain herself and not caring if she sounds like a madwoman. “- so we will be fine. Kreios, are we… in Beqanna? The real Beqanna? I can’t feel the Jungle, and that Mountain definitely wasn’t there before.” Her eyes once again dart to the rocks that must reach so high into the air that it is hard to breathe. It is impossible to miss. Her tongue slips out to wetten her lips, before she begins again. “How long has it been since the Raid? Oh god, do not tell me they still got the Desert.” She’s on the verge of asking about his family when a long-lost scent pokes at her mind, drawing her attention away from her single-minded interrogation.
“Nayl,” she breathes, for she is the first Amazonian she has seen, and she does not seem to want to rip Lagertha’s throat out and charge her with abandonment. The black and white mare is both a savior and the bearer of the worst news possible; Lagertha practically chokes on her next breath. ”No -” she sputters, looking to Kreios for confirmation. It could not be! Their beautiful, beloved home? “No…” she whispers, hanging her head and closing her eyes. Was this her fault? Was it Lexa’s? Where was the Sister, who had clearly taken up the crown when Lagertha was hurled worlds away. Still, there is fight left in the scarred and weary battle-axe. She looks pointedly at Wessex, who is not quite following the whole conversation, though she was raised on stories of Beqanna and the Jungle. “We will never be extinct. To be an Amazon is to have a certain state of being. It cannot be limited to a place.”
Nayl demands action, and Lagertha cannot agree more, but oh, so is so goddamn tired. Lagertha doesn’t know if she can muster up the energy required to lead. With another breath into her gaunt chest, she turns to look at Kreios, asking him an unspoken question. The Falls? Their allies? “What is to be done?”
[im sorry i wrote a novel D: ]