again you’re gone, off on a different path than mine
i'm left behind wondering if i should follow
Lepis stands at the edge of the Field, perched at the peak of a hill that falls sharp into the summer-bright plain in front of her. Her golden wings are pulled tightly to her sides, and her blue-marked face is deceptively serene. In this world of magical creatures, the dun is visibly remarkable only for her wings and the navy shade of her markings. Her blue-grey eyes track a far more arcane creature, one who is far more eye-catching than the sturdily built dun mare who watches her.
Flames dance along her spine, and though Lepis is appropriately wary of fire she finds herself nearly unable to pull her eyes away. It’s an odd sensation, for the stranger otherwise does not seem to exhude other qualities that might catch the tobiano’s attention. She is here for Loess, to see if there might be anyone in the Field that would fare better in her red kingdom than here in this aimless land. The chaos that her king longs for has begun, and in the absence of other responsibilities, the Cleric has come to the Field. Falling back on age-old habit is nevertheless odd; how long as it been since she came here for Loess? Five years? More?
Lepis reassures herself that comfort will come with time, that slipping on an old dress always feels strange for the first few minutes.
With that, she descends her hill, and angles her path so that she might come up beside the flaming mare without startling her or cutting her off. Twilight is falling steadily, and the glow of the other mare is easy to track, as is the foreign smell of her skin. Is that where she comes from, Lepis wonders, or the odd substance that drips from her sides? The scarred mare’s eyes linger there for a moment, but there is no stink of burnt or damaged flesh, and she assumes the substance is harmless, at least for the woman who wears it.
“I’ve seen fire-wielders before,” she says by way of introduction, “but they’ve carried it inside them, not along their bodies.” There is a smile on her face and the very faintest bit of friendship in the air. Not nearly enough to sway another (Lepis has learnt her lesson well), but rather just enough to suggest it and just enough to be easily ignored if the other is not entirely receptive.
“My name is Lepis,” adds the dun mare, “Am I right in welcoming you to Beqanna?”
LEPIS
i’m the one who sees you home--
but now i’m lost in the woods
and i don’t know what path you are on |
