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of the sea
Scaled ears sweep forward, straining (which is so unlike the usually controlled warrior) to hear her response. Her stare is vivid, intent, as her unblinking gaze stares into the grayish blue of the woman. “Syrena,” her ears twitch at the name, something lighting in her over-large stare as she waits for the answer to her question—
But then another appears. So intent had her attention been on Syrena that she had entirely missed the approach of this bubbling woman. The attentiveness washes out of her face, instead severity replacing it as she studies the newcomer. She is of the sea, her body shouts of it. But she is not of the sea, as her people are. She appears to be a land-dweller that the sea had loved and claimed for its own, for her skin is coated in fur.
Tiamat. The name is surprisingly pleasant in the seahorse’s head—it nearly sounded Akvian. And for the mare strangely shrouded in melancholy with her mind so unused to the sensation, it makes her more open to the woman than she normally would have been. Especially given the fact that she interrupted an answer she was so keen on hearing.
Her barbed tail stirred once in the lapping tides, a quick slice of her bladed horn was the greeting she gave the sea-painted woman, before turning her attention back to the grey, seal-coated woman. And her answer, it is disheartening at first. The Hidden Falls? That is where she also resides, but that is not where she is from.
Her unblinking gaze leaves the woman, attention shifting to the sea—but aqua irises jerk back to Syrena, “from everywhere the water touched.” Her ears sweep forward, “Where is that?” Her attention piqued, was that someplace in Helovia?
“I live in the Falls, now. But I am Akvian, from Akvo, the great nation of waves. We are from the Rift, as Helovians call it. My people live—lived,” the correction is swift, and a surprising pain flashes through her chest, “Just beyond the horizon,” her aquamarine horn motions towards the sea. And then she awaits for Tiamat to answer.
But then another appears. So intent had her attention been on Syrena that she had entirely missed the approach of this bubbling woman. The attentiveness washes out of her face, instead severity replacing it as she studies the newcomer. She is of the sea, her body shouts of it. But she is not of the sea, as her people are. She appears to be a land-dweller that the sea had loved and claimed for its own, for her skin is coated in fur.
Tiamat. The name is surprisingly pleasant in the seahorse’s head—it nearly sounded Akvian. And for the mare strangely shrouded in melancholy with her mind so unused to the sensation, it makes her more open to the woman than she normally would have been. Especially given the fact that she interrupted an answer she was so keen on hearing.
Her barbed tail stirred once in the lapping tides, a quick slice of her bladed horn was the greeting she gave the sea-painted woman, before turning her attention back to the grey, seal-coated woman. And her answer, it is disheartening at first. The Hidden Falls? That is where she also resides, but that is not where she is from.
Her unblinking gaze leaves the woman, attention shifting to the sea—but aqua irises jerk back to Syrena, “from everywhere the water touched.” Her ears sweep forward, “Where is that?” Her attention piqued, was that someplace in Helovia?
“I live in the Falls, now. But I am Akvian, from Akvo, the great nation of waves. We are from the Rift, as Helovians call it. My people live—lived,” the correction is swift, and a surprising pain flashes through her chest, “Just beyond the horizon,” her aquamarine horn motions towards the sea. And then she awaits for Tiamat to answer.
@Tiamat @Syrena sorry for the wait!
Please tag Aquila in all posts.
