i am the violence in the pouring rain
i am a hurricaneOthers come. They always do, though for once she cannot be certain if they flock to her or to the tree. Or both. But of course, the tree is what Straia lives for, breaths for, because it embodies her kingdom. It is the magic that courses through this land come to stand in front of them, the magic that keeps the heart beneath their feet drumming on and on. The rhythm, unsettling to so many, is a lullaby to Straia. But of course, she grew up with the sound of that heart. She would die to the sound of it beating in her ears one day. I
Well, if she died at all. She was still beginning to think that a retirement full of pestering Atrox in the mountains would be ideal. Atrox probably won’t agree.
She doesn’t actually know the mare who approaches first, but the ravens have kept her well informed, and one caws again now to remind Straia who this stranger is. Aurane, new. But before Straia can reply, she hears the far more familiar sound of Shaytan’s voice. Straia nods at the comment. “The tree is the magical entity of this kingdom. In essence, it is the life blood of everything that happens here. And as Shaytan said, it can be rather useful too.”
She pauses for a moment, looking between the two mares. “I’m Straia. Aurane, right? And this is Shaytan.” Then her attention shifts to Shaytan slightly, and she asks, “Have you tried it yet, Shaytan?” Because she can’t help it. Her curiosity is growing.
straia
the raven queen of the chamber
