04-14-2018, 08:05 AM
we are crooked souls trying to stay up straight
Wishbone’s departure was a difficult one, but Warrick knows he could not have kept his child here even if he wanted to. She would do well in Nerinee (more than well, he reminds himself) and perhaps at the end of the year she will return to them. It is a silly thought to think, but he would not be disappointed if she chose to come back home, as all fathers wish. Even now, there are some nights when he wishes Solace was just within his grasp, beneath the lava-filled rock and the hazy smoke. But he knows this is not the way life works, and with his previous knowledge of his firstborns, he knew that Wishbone would be okay. The bay King is not surprised when Wound, however, distances herself. She has spent the last few days in a trance, mulling through her thoughts and sifting through her emotions. He had kept an eye on her (he is sure she knows, with his large wings pulling him through the sky, looking down upon his world and his close ones with the eye of an osprey), but allowed her the space she needed to adjust to such a different setting that Tephra would be now.
Warrick is almost too worried about Wound, about Wishbone, that he forgets that soon another will be arriving - a fair trade, an alliance agreement that he and Hestia had formed. His large wings - a deep and brilliant cobalt - keep the Overseer high in the thermals above Tephra, but just below the clouded smoke that continually floats from the volcano’s top. He had already made a swift perimeter of Tephra, and is quickly coming inland again to check the borders one more time before retiring to the darkened shoreline, where he spends most of his days. With his power of flight, it has become his job to continually sweep the borders, with Longclaw’s disappearance and his ability to get there quickly.
It is then he spies them - both Wound and the younger female - and his mind quickly remembers what he had been forgetting. With a sort of seriousness shifting across his face, he twitches the delicate length of his feathers to turn his entire body, pivoting and spiraling in the humid and thick air to lower himself towards the golden grasses of the inland. With the steady pump of his wings, he hovers a few strides away from the duo before letting his hooves meet the warm earth, landing with the smell of sky and sun and smoke, fluttering his feathers before curving them into his auburn sides.
He casually comes up beside Wound, his bright blue gaze meeting hers first with a knowing and understanding glance. The blue of his feathers rest gently against the silver of her side before he halts, turning his face towards the young woman before him.
“I am Warrick,” he says to the Nerinian girl, a tiny nod of his head to punctuate his welcome. “How were your travels?” Nerine is the farthest country from Tephra, Warrick knows, and he wonders if Wishbone has made it there safely, just as this one has.
Warrick
@[Philomena] @[wound]