Яikyn

Ever since Kyst hatched, momma has been busy teaching her how to be a griffon; it’s to my benefit, allowing me time to learn the land more personally and to spend time with my sister. I don’t know where Aithniel is now, but that’s also to my liking, because I’m not looking for her this afternoon, even though maybe I should be – the fact that momma has kept her pretty much secluded from the life she had grown me in had left her lagging behind me in many ways, a fact that left me sad and bitter because Aithniel is not stupid or deserving of the treatment she gets from the woman who birthed me and spared her with her milk, and also because it leaves her at a disadvantage when it comes to the social networks at play in this land. As if her wings weren’t enough of a curse, I think with my little muzzle wrinkled in anger.

I hope that she’s off with Erebos, who seems to have taken a liking to her despite the warnings I’m sure his father has tossed at him about the flying things of Loorien. The Reaper had been at that meeting, the one where momma had asked for the head of some equine woman and where all the faces had been dark and scheming. I’d seen many of them since then, the others of the Plague, that secret group I couldn’t even tell Aithniel about even though I desperately wanted to warn her to stay away from them. The thought of harm coming to her makes me feel sick – and I know I can’t protect her from so many adults if they decide to go over momma’s instructions to leave her be.

It’s not even that I don’t see the reasoning behind the racism, because the stories momma has told me point to the fact that we are better and more deserving than they are and that the other species can never be trusted, but Aithniel is different. She was raised around the crowned and so would surely carry our noble culture with her, and while she wore wings, she also has a horn to lend her the pride the rest of us felt. Even if she was blighted and wrong, it was not a thing she could change, and she was not so entirely wrong as to be crownless like the Queen of the Edge or that woman momma wants dead so badly.

The sentinels rise ahead and I send my golden eyes searching for my sire, spurred mostly by momma’s suggestion last night that I go ahead and seek him out now that I’m not so young and obnoxious. I don’t really understand why she thought I was ever such a thing – I’ve spent much of time with her silent and trying my best not to rouse her wrath with capricious or anecdotal behavior, and for anyone who spends any amount of time around the bitch I call mother, they know it is not easy to remain composed with so many long winded and self praising words drifting about and inciting boredom.

I look over my shoulder to make sure Aithniel isn’t coming and quickly trot over the crest of the hill and down towards his usual work place, actually really excited to spend some time with my dad but knowing that he wouldn’t approve of my sister much at all. Unlike momma, father is a man of action, his machines towering over the threshold of our valley to prove that he is capable of more than just talking about how awesome he is (though I’m sure momma has some bite, or she wouldn’t still be in charge of such a large herd).

@[Ulrik]

in every heart a hole