In the weeks following Galadriel’s spearheading of Taiga, she has not allowed herself to linger too long on the masked stallion she left in Nerine. Occasionally she will reminisce, thinking of how he handed her a seat in his sister land without so much as a blink of an eye. Her heart doesn’t warm but it certainly thrums, leaving her body with reverberations that shudder in her legs and down her spine.
It has been mildly boring in Taiga, with the Hyalinian shapeshifters having mostly left the land alone. Rel cannot say she knows every detail of that story, but she knows enough to be aware of the tension between the North and the East. In her first days, she prickled with the anxious energy that accompanies poor kingdom relations, but rarely was her restlessness sated.
Day after day passes as Galadriel realizes that the lives most Taigains lead are quiet, shadowed, and (mostly) peaceful. A people to be proud of, yes; but did they suit her? At night, in the sleepy minutes before she fully passes into dreams, Rel sometimes wonders if this was a mistake. Perhaps she needs a more riotous community, and perhaps it would be wrong of her to stir the giant sleeping tranquilly beneath the fragrant soil.
It’s when Galadriel is deeply entrenched in her restlessness that she scents Reave on the wind. A small smile curls her lips, thinking his arrival being right when she is about to burst so very like him. Calmly, she follows that smell, trailing lazily through the evening shadows.
“Reave . . .” she sings on a piney spring breeze. There, between the lengthening shadows of the Redwoods, Rel thinks she spots him. Her pace breaks into a trot as she grins.
“Hello,” is all she breathes.
@Reave