- it's in the eyes, i can tell you will always be danger -
we had it tonight, why do we always seek absolution?
LILLIANA
It does take all night. Between her limited healing abilities and the power of Tephra’s lake, it takes all night to heal Warlight. When the painted woman finally regains enough of her strength to leave, Lilliana finds a place along the shore and beds down for the last remaining hours of nightfall. She waits (hopes) anxiously for dawn.
Her rest - when it does come - is fitful. It's full of shifting the weight from her thoughts from her mind to her hips and back again. Nothing stills. When she finally decides that there is no more point in (pretending to) rest, the copper mare leaves the lovely alcove behind - strung with tropical fruits and made alluring with blossoming orchids. Perhaps it’s because she is already tired or perhaps it’s because of the humidity already hanging like a heavy curtain around her but Lilliana moves sluggishly. Despite her increasing desire to get home, each step feels weighted. Like her hooves should be made of stone, like her legs long to root themselves where they step.
North, she tells herself.
Lilliana’s absence - any amount of time that she has been gone - will be noticed. The former captive knows this and can hear Izora Lethia in her mind asking her not to leave again. She thinks of Yanhua’s (anxious?) blue eyes in the Redwood forest and forces herself to move at a faster pace than she might have otherwise taken.
Home, she thinks.
The day goes on and so do her travels. The sun goes peeking from the East to rising above her and the day grows hotter, the humidity rising steadily like the steam from Tephra's volcano. Lilliana is made for this kind of climate; her red pelt is sleek and fine. She shines and glints a fiery-gold sheen in the sunlight that manages to catch her, that manages to keep up with her determined stride. The only part that dampens with sweat is where her thick, wavy mane crashes along her long neck and slender shoulder.
Her thoughts are distracted - full of home and yet lulled by the rushing sound of her ancestors - when she comes across him. Her blue eyes sweep first to his ivory wings (of course, they do) and if it were possible for her face to blanch, it would. Only her eyes show this, draining their usual intensity. They dim with worry and she stops, freezing as she peers to the pale (troubled) face that emerges from the density of Tephra’s jungle. "I’m sorry,” she says, apologizing for an intrusion she creates. She’d leave, keep moving and leave him but the troubles are painted plainly on his white face.
She never leaves well enough alone. But she never leaves anyone - even a stranger - when they look as this one does. Like they are anything but well.
"Are you,” she starts though she knows otherwise, knows it with a lead certainty that sinks to the bottom of her stomach. "Alright?”
@[Warden] <3
but it's all in the past, love
it's all gone with the wind