09-19-2021, 04:09 PM
Giant. Antlered. Chimeras. They seem more foreboding with each adjective. Moira’s attention is on the sea, and then as Wherewolf describes their color her green eyes turn back to him. Fire is not something she is familiar with, but she has heard of dragons.
Her guide does not seem especially concerned though, but she supposes that comes of giving them a large berth, and is the reason he wants to take her on the northern trail.
Well, she supposes, surely it wouldn’t be terrible to see more of the Pampas? She’s nearly convinced herself to carry on when the stallion speaks again. The nereid’s thoughtful expression turns to surprise, and then concern. She has little skill at hiding her emotions, especially not when confronted with such news.
An Ischian boy? Being kept as a pet?
They have one of her uncles?
Moira feels an uncomfortable churning in her belly, one that she recognizes as apprehension. It is accompanied by a shiver down her spine, and a cold curl of fear. Is this what Beyza had meant when she’d said there might be dangers outside of Ischia?
Moira is uncertain, pulled in two directions. She desperately wants to run, to turn tail and dash across the field of flowers toward the sea. But should she stay? Should she try to rescue someone she isn’t even sure she would recognize?
She takes a step back, shaking her head.
Then another step, and a third, and then she turns and runs toward the sea, never once looking back to see if she is being pursued.
Later, safe in Ischia, she will realize she had not seen a single elkear on her rapid flight across the wildflowers.
Her guide does not seem especially concerned though, but she supposes that comes of giving them a large berth, and is the reason he wants to take her on the northern trail.
Well, she supposes, surely it wouldn’t be terrible to see more of the Pampas? She’s nearly convinced herself to carry on when the stallion speaks again. The nereid’s thoughtful expression turns to surprise, and then concern. She has little skill at hiding her emotions, especially not when confronted with such news.
An Ischian boy? Being kept as a pet?
They have one of her uncles?
Moira feels an uncomfortable churning in her belly, one that she recognizes as apprehension. It is accompanied by a shiver down her spine, and a cold curl of fear. Is this what Beyza had meant when she’d said there might be dangers outside of Ischia?
Moira is uncertain, pulled in two directions. She desperately wants to run, to turn tail and dash across the field of flowers toward the sea. But should she stay? Should she try to rescue someone she isn’t even sure she would recognize?
She takes a step back, shaking her head.
Then another step, and a third, and then she turns and runs toward the sea, never once looking back to see if she is being pursued.
Later, safe in Ischia, she will realize she had not seen a single elkear on her rapid flight across the wildflowers.