The Threshold seemed unnaturally empty after her mother’s departure. It should’ve smelled like spring—Nym could see the wildflowers blooming in the sunlight, bright pinks and violets—but all she could scent was her mother’s magic, the reek of rot and decay lingering in her nostrils. As snow melted around her and the earth grew wet and moist beneath her hooves, Nymeria breathed, in and out, until at last Confutatis’ touch faded. Smoky dust motes curled in around her. Sun kissed her hips and shoulders. 

For a long and deliciously warm moment draped in sunlight, the spider imagined a life without her mother’s schoolings.  What would I be? Who would’ve loved her? Her gaze strayed, roaming over snowmelt and fresh flowers and her mind rolling back—to Elsa, to Ampere, and to Hotaru, all proclaimed saviors who never did anything, never acted on their promises.

Lilómiel fluted wordlessly, his acidity neutralizing her bitterness. 
Thank you.

No matter her longing for something else, for something different, she was raised to obey. Choked and leashed firmly to Confutatis’ iron will, there was no evading the metal collar’s prongs tightening in on her neck. She had no choice—had no will. What she wanted was what her mother wanted, and to say her ambitions and hopes were what she was forced into… well, it was a lie. Like mother, like daughter; like father, like son. World Eater was chiseled into her, and there was no off-road-ing on fate’s path. 



Chance happened to be favoring her today.

They passed by her quietly, like two ghosts on a breeze, all monochrome and blue and red. With them came a smell of seasalt and sand, pine and moss; and one of raw wild and chopped rock, a smell like she herself had carried. It was more than this that drew her attention. It was Mauja’s way of moving, like drifting snowfall, and Entia’s scarring, his red eye. 

They were here and then they were going, and she was drawn to them like all manner of cliché sayings (what comes to mind is that of moth to flame.) Or, a starving Labrador Retriever baited with chocolate.

Nymeria took up a swift step, taking after them silently. Their pace was such she found it easy to keep pace, and retain her quiet. Each movement was taken with care, lest she alert the strangers to her presence; and she herself stayed a good kilometer back for them, instead using Lilómiel as an intermediary. There was a vague sense of irritation to his thought pattern, an erratic spike and surge of anger, but she ignored it in favor of caution. There is a purpose to this, she avowed to him as he flapped and flew and grumbled beneath his breath; there is something important to this. 

Call it a woman’s intuition. 

The traveling took up a good piece of the day, and by the time they began to slow again the sun was crawling down towards the horizon. Mist began to weave around dark and greasy tree trunks, white veils illuminated by a shock of sunlight. Dew glowed on cobwebs; the ocean rumbled in the distance. When she flared her nostrils, Nymeria could taste the salt, almost feel the ocean spray against her cheek.

Soft voices murmured across the dull forest, words muted by springtime growth. She hesitated, caught between curiosity and caution; to approach? Or to stay back, within her safety net? 

Forward, Lil prompted.

Otherwise, what purpose would there have been to following the stallions for so far?
And so go forward she did. Around mossy trunks and draping lichen she moved, soundless as a deer, before halting a mere twenty feet away from the two, obscured by woodwork. There she sat, patient, mute—watching and observing.


Nymeria & Lilómiel

Caught in the fire, watch it burn,
Ash to ash, now it’s our turn,
Take their kingdom down and smash it to pieces