The child does not speak.
Perhaps it is atonement for her mother’s sins. Perhaps it is because her father had been the vindicator and Aela, the vindication. Perhaps there is simply too much to say about the blood flowing in her immortal veins (but aren’t they all like that, really?).
Aela has no words.
All she has are memories.
All she is is a memory.
Her touch is so light, so gentle against his dark maw. It starts hesitant (not because of manners, of politeness. No, Aela is used to being bombarded by the emotion of remembering.) She normally never comes this close to others and the fact that he allows her is intriguing. The fact that he is as warm as a glacier is even more so.
@[kensley] is like the placid, glass-top of deep stillwater. There is no groaning or gushing of wavesong. There was no ebbing tide of emotion. There is no salt from the ocean of tears he might have wept. There is no endless void of vengeance, of hatred echoing back at her from the dark depths of his soul.
He is empty.
He is peace and he takes it with him when he pulls away. The stallion blinks and Aela does not. Her ears prick forward but she stands still, lifting her slender head eagerly to space where his had been. The gray stallion tilts his head and smiles, like he is dreaming without the wonder. So she, made all the braver by his absence, smiles shyly back at him.
The child does not speak so she reaches out for him again because it comes easiest this way. She reaches out for him and hopes that when (if) he meets her, he’ll hear it.
(A blue roan mare with even deeper blue eyes who knows: 'Aela.’)
She hopes he’ll hear her name echo through the memories and maybe, he’ll understand. And she finds herself hoping as she looks up that this ghost she's found has a name.
Perhaps it is atonement for her mother’s sins. Perhaps it is because her father had been the vindicator and Aela, the vindication. Perhaps there is simply too much to say about the blood flowing in her immortal veins (but aren’t they all like that, really?).
Aela has no words.
All she has are memories.
All she is is a memory.
Her touch is so light, so gentle against his dark maw. It starts hesitant (not because of manners, of politeness. No, Aela is used to being bombarded by the emotion of remembering.) She normally never comes this close to others and the fact that he allows her is intriguing. The fact that he is as warm as a glacier is even more so.
@[kensley] is like the placid, glass-top of deep stillwater. There is no groaning or gushing of wavesong. There was no ebbing tide of emotion. There is no salt from the ocean of tears he might have wept. There is no endless void of vengeance, of hatred echoing back at her from the dark depths of his soul.
He is empty.
He is peace and he takes it with him when he pulls away. The stallion blinks and Aela does not. Her ears prick forward but she stands still, lifting her slender head eagerly to space where his had been. The gray stallion tilts his head and smiles, like he is dreaming without the wonder. So she, made all the braver by his absence, smiles shyly back at him.
The child does not speak so she reaches out for him again because it comes easiest this way. She reaches out for him and hopes that when (if) he meets her, he’ll hear it.
(A blue roan mare with even deeper blue eyes who knows: 'Aela.’)
She hopes he’ll hear her name echo through the memories and maybe, he’ll understand. And she finds herself hoping as she looks up that this ghost she's found has a name.
AELA
html © castlegraphics