08-09-2020, 09:35 AM
l e p i s
gave me the blues and then purple pink skies
At his mention of a warning, Lepis archly raises a single brow. She does so to avoid smiling, but does not make this otherwise known, instead giving only a nod of her muzzle as though satisfied that he has taken the warning for what it was. Perhaps if he had come to Loess in a less intrusive way she might have reacted differently, but as it is remaining on guard seems a better option. Or at least a safer one.
He is not Wolfbane, but that alone does not make him trustworthy.
At least Mesec had Malone to vouch for him, she thinks of her most recent encounter with a non-resident; Tarian has nothing to commend himself but the rude manner of his arrival and the fact that he had almost made Lepis laugh when she did not want to.
Before she can decide whether the last is a mark for or against him, the grey pegasus asks about the burdens of the kingdom and the necessity of two queens. That he makes the leap to hardship from the mention of a ruling plurality is telling, Lepis is sure, though she does not yet have enough pieces of the puzzle to determine exactly what it might tell.
“Oceane rules the Southern Empire,” she tells him, gesturing west and then south, toward the territories of the red Sylvan forest and the plains of the Brilliant Pampas. “I have charge of Loess.” That he has heard of pegasi in Loess is unexpectedly satisfying. Lepis has always thought this land, above all other she has seen or heard of – is best suited for the winged. Peaks and ridges that are insurmountable by foot are well within the grasp of the pegasi who call this place home, and she supposes in that at the very least: Tarian might find a comfortable home here.
What better way to learn about a kingdom than from its leader, he asks, and while on some level she accepts this as common sense, she also takes it for flattery following the revelation of her position. It is hard to shake suspicion, after all, and she answers a question that she suspects had been rhetorical.
“Perhaps from someone who has known it since birth,” is her reply, though following his recitation of names she does not know she adds: “Fortunately for you, perhaps, I am both.” Though years of her life have been spent beyond the edge of the red kingdom, Lepis had been born in this hilly place (not far from this canyon, in truth, on a little ridge in the heart of Loess) and she has accepted that this is where she will die.
What about yourself, he asks after he shares his lineage, and though it is not her intention to make light of how well he knows his own roots, her answers is not entirely similar.
“I’ve heard my father is a water monster, like his father before him. He left my mother and Loess for the sea, which I have never found especially appealing.” She prefers her water fresh, after all, and bound by an edge that she can see. There is no edge to the ocean, after all, and its endlessness discomforts her. She thinks of that as they move ever closer to the spring, and when at last they come upon it, she does not stop until she is knee deep in the water and has begun to drink her fill.
@[Tarian]
He is not Wolfbane, but that alone does not make him trustworthy.
At least Mesec had Malone to vouch for him, she thinks of her most recent encounter with a non-resident; Tarian has nothing to commend himself but the rude manner of his arrival and the fact that he had almost made Lepis laugh when she did not want to.
Before she can decide whether the last is a mark for or against him, the grey pegasus asks about the burdens of the kingdom and the necessity of two queens. That he makes the leap to hardship from the mention of a ruling plurality is telling, Lepis is sure, though she does not yet have enough pieces of the puzzle to determine exactly what it might tell.
“Oceane rules the Southern Empire,” she tells him, gesturing west and then south, toward the territories of the red Sylvan forest and the plains of the Brilliant Pampas. “I have charge of Loess.” That he has heard of pegasi in Loess is unexpectedly satisfying. Lepis has always thought this land, above all other she has seen or heard of – is best suited for the winged. Peaks and ridges that are insurmountable by foot are well within the grasp of the pegasi who call this place home, and she supposes in that at the very least: Tarian might find a comfortable home here.
What better way to learn about a kingdom than from its leader, he asks, and while on some level she accepts this as common sense, she also takes it for flattery following the revelation of her position. It is hard to shake suspicion, after all, and she answers a question that she suspects had been rhetorical.
“Perhaps from someone who has known it since birth,” is her reply, though following his recitation of names she does not know she adds: “Fortunately for you, perhaps, I am both.” Though years of her life have been spent beyond the edge of the red kingdom, Lepis had been born in this hilly place (not far from this canyon, in truth, on a little ridge in the heart of Loess) and she has accepted that this is where she will die.
What about yourself, he asks after he shares his lineage, and though it is not her intention to make light of how well he knows his own roots, her answers is not entirely similar.
“I’ve heard my father is a water monster, like his father before him. He left my mother and Loess for the sea, which I have never found especially appealing.” She prefers her water fresh, after all, and bound by an edge that she can see. There is no edge to the ocean, after all, and its endlessness discomforts her. She thinks of that as they move ever closer to the spring, and when at last they come upon it, she does not stop until she is knee deep in the water and has begun to drink her fill.
