Kid&Sabre

our kingdom come

Volterra (it’s still way too weird to think of him as dad) and I haven’t traveled far since he found me in the Threshold. We had agreed to travel a little ways north first—where the emerald leaves turn a sinful scarlet, and the boughs are thick enough to choke out all but the strongest light. Before I had wandered off on my little adventure, we had spent some time here in the Blood Falls (brother and I) and I thought I might—just might—find him here. Ma had been with us as well, of course. I suppose you could say that this had been our home away from home; the Deep Forest’s northeastern cousin, the blood wood.

Exhaling heavily from my nostrils, I shake the curls from my eyes, each glance of the dense, ruby trees breathing life into a memory. I pick my way not-so-carefully through the underbrush, kicking a rock here and there, my ears trained lazily behind me. Part of me expects Volterra to come crashing in through the wake of my tracks. After all, I hadn’t exactly told him I was leaving his side; I just sort of...wandered off.

Did I have to tell him?

I’ve never had a father before, and my experience with ma had been anything but conventional (she had preferred to raise us with iron-wills and stone hearts rather than manners or decorum). Either way, it’s not like I would roll over and play obedience to him easily—what has he done to earn my respect enough to heed his word? I wield a double-edged sword, people. (Still, isn’t that what dads are supposed to do? Worry? Protect?) Ma had never run after brother when he had snuck off (she’d only beat him senseless when he happened to return).

Tucking my chin in towards my chest, I hide a smile, remembering his mischief. I had never considered myself the obedient one, even if it was technically true, but oh how the tables have turned! —Who’s sneaking away from the parent now?

Snickering to myself, I’m caught off-guard by the sudden shrieking of a woman. I would have rolled my eyes, but the bellow of Volterra’s name distracts my attention and captures my interest. Narrowing my eyes, I march through the trees, stumbling upon the sight of a mare standing in the familiar ruby waters. “Probably avoiding you,” I scoff boldly, like any typical teenager with attitude. I don’t recognize her—I would remember markings like her plaited webs and blood-red skin—but for all her theatrics, she exudes stubborn confidence. And I admire such proud women.

If only she didn’t have that sickening tumor of a horn germinating from her forehead.

“Maybe if you stop screeching for a second, you might not scare your bait away. You’re huffing like a damn priss,” I spit away the curls that have fallen across my brow, narrowing the yellow of my eyes accusingly. What did this woman want with Volterra? Should I bother myself enough to care?


notes; Also tagging @Volterra if you're interested in maybe using this if you were jumping in :3
“Speech.”