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07-25-2014, 12:18 PM
"She’s crying," her son says to her, and she looks at him inquisitively before following his eyes out across the gently swaying grass to discover the fleeing figure of the girl they’d found and saved from death in the meadow. His entire face is etched with concern and his body quivers with the desire to follow her, losing the battle even before the Lady manages a sigh at having to go deal with the daughter she never wanted. Rikyn is ahead of her several paces, cantering with his long, awkward foal’s legs while she trots and easily keeps time with him, allowing the boy to take the role of stopping the girl; females were tedious, a reason she had been thankful for the gender of her son, and a reason (aside from the most obvious blight of her hybrid breeding) she had not wanted to spare the little white dove. Rikyn had insisted, with those young and innocent eyes, and she had conceded. While it went against her nature to spare the child and it would cost her much in the face of her peers if confronted about her presence here (for she had no schemes, no plans for the girl; she only knew that fate had delivered her with purpose and that it was a good lesson for her boy to witness the torment of a winged wretch), she allowed the child to stay and even fed her to keep her growing and strong, riding the tasks with the assumption that, in some way, it would reward her to have not smashed the little babe where she had lain near death. "Aithniel!" her son’s voice calls as soon as he’s caught up enough to the girl to be within earshot, his cloven hooves still beating after her, "Aith!" @[Aithniel] Illynx |
