10-08-2021, 01:24 PM
all of time and space, everywhere and anywhere, every star that ever was
When Nashua had healed her, he hadn’t cleaned her of the dried blood that still covers her dark feathers, still stains the dark fur around the new ravaged scar where the Curse had placed his heart inside of her. Right next to the one where he had opened her up and tasted her stars. No wonder Mazikeen hadn’t recognized her, had looked at her as she had when she had been covered in blood and stinking of death and anger. When she had taken off from Hyaline, torn by the interaction that had happened there, she still did not return home. She would not have Leokadia see her like this, could not stand to see any concern in the other mare’s eyes.
And there was still the dark magic crackling in her chest, that heart in the eye of her stormy rage, that she needed to deal with. Mazikeen could not remove it. Could anyone? Somewhere beneath her, shadows move with the weight of grief in the direction from which she had came. She is oblivious to what the Curse has done now, to the lives that had been destroyed and lost in the wake of its chaotic destruction. Instead, for once, she is thinking of other things. She is grasping to that sliver of hope like a buoy, her head barely bobbing over the surface of the anger that threatens to drown her.
If she can put this magic back in him, maybe it will be enough to weaken him. Maybe it will be enough to destroy him or at least buy them all time to figure out how.
On dark outstretched wings, she lands by the river. Her crimson stars glow eerily in the moonlight, illuminating her many scars and the dried flakes of blood that cling to her coat. She makes to wade into the shallows and then halts, suddenly aware that the coppery tang in the air is from something fresher than her own spilt ichor. Her nostrils wrinkle as she takes a step and that’s when she sees him, that unmoving form in the mud. Smelling of blood and dirt. And there is another scent here, several days old and faint but lingering just enough that the silver strands of her eyes cover her pupils in the sudden spin of her anger and a snarl curls at the corner of her dark mouth.
Gale had been here. Of that she was certain.
“Hey.” She warily approaches the dark stallion kneeling in the mud. Not recognizing him for who he was. Why would she, when her father had always been just a name with no face attached to it. “Have you been hurt?” She asks him, unable to see his features from where she stood behind him. She takes a step towards him, cautious, in case this was just another trap the Curse had planted for her.
And there was still the dark magic crackling in her chest, that heart in the eye of her stormy rage, that she needed to deal with. Mazikeen could not remove it. Could anyone? Somewhere beneath her, shadows move with the weight of grief in the direction from which she had came. She is oblivious to what the Curse has done now, to the lives that had been destroyed and lost in the wake of its chaotic destruction. Instead, for once, she is thinking of other things. She is grasping to that sliver of hope like a buoy, her head barely bobbing over the surface of the anger that threatens to drown her.
If she can put this magic back in him, maybe it will be enough to weaken him. Maybe it will be enough to destroy him or at least buy them all time to figure out how.
On dark outstretched wings, she lands by the river. Her crimson stars glow eerily in the moonlight, illuminating her many scars and the dried flakes of blood that cling to her coat. She makes to wade into the shallows and then halts, suddenly aware that the coppery tang in the air is from something fresher than her own spilt ichor. Her nostrils wrinkle as she takes a step and that’s when she sees him, that unmoving form in the mud. Smelling of blood and dirt. And there is another scent here, several days old and faint but lingering just enough that the silver strands of her eyes cover her pupils in the sudden spin of her anger and a snarl curls at the corner of her dark mouth.
Gale had been here. Of that she was certain.
“Hey.” She warily approaches the dark stallion kneeling in the mud. Not recognizing him for who he was. Why would she, when her father had always been just a name with no face attached to it. “Have you been hurt?” She asks him, unable to see his features from where she stood behind him. She takes a step towards him, cautious, in case this was just another trap the Curse had planted for her.
-- Ciri
@atrox