She radiates something Prime cannot define. He can almost feel it in the air, the way lightning can sometimes be sensed before a storm, but he cannot name it. He watches her as she exhales, wings tucked at her sides now, and speaks.
I will be, she says, and Prime finds that he hopes she is telling the truth, and not lying politely to a stranger. He hopes that storm-sense will dissipate from her. He isn’t sure why he feels that way, such a spike of empathy – he was not raised on much of it. His father was kind enough, but it was more about getting Prime to adulthood, to an age where he could set out on his own.
And Violence, well – she was not meant to have borne a son, as she told him time and time again.
(It’s only because of your necromancy that I didn’t kill you, she told him once, sighing, I may end up doing so anyway.)
(She had not – but she had ended up dropping hjm at his father’s feet, and had not stayed to see if Firion had cared.)
The dark, glittering mare asks her question then and Prime shrinks just slightly into himself.
“I’m sorry,” he says, “I don’t…”
He’s never been to Tephra, could not tell her the way. And besides, from the drifts of conversations that he’s heard, many of the lands did not survive the last shake-up. Was Tephra one of them? He cannot recall.
“In the storm,” he says, “I heard that many of the lands…well, that they’re no longer habitable.”
Did they sink? Burn? Both, somehow? Prime doesn’t know. His scope of Beqanna is so terribly limited.
“Tephra may have survived,” he offers, a consolation prize for his ignorance, “I can help you look, if you’d like.”
who protects the shadow better than the dark?
@Areane sorry i've forgotten how to write ):