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The storm child does not, at first, take heed to the stirrings of a stranger nearby; she is too busy chewing on her thoughts. Her mind dangles on the vestiges of memories that feel ancient now, entertaining the disembodied voices of those who briefly came into her life and those who left just as quickly. Idly, she recants her first journey through these woods and what she found beyond them, when the trials of courage and adventure were new and exciting. Her wanderlust had been insatiable then; it took her far, and yet nowhere at all, really. Afterall, here she is again. If you run far enough, she supposes, you end up exactly where you were. For the wayward daughter, it is neither nostalgia nor any sort of fondness that keeps her coming back. It is a debt she feels she owes. There are things left to resolve, and demons to be exorcised—a neglected child, deep inside her, to be reconciled with. In the corner of her eye she sees motion, and hearkens herself. She lifts her gaze to regard the stranger with wide, blinking eyes, gaze shifting from the mare to the strange ghost-deer that hovers at her side, its pit-less red eyes boring holes into her. The creature reminds her offhandedly of sister's hellhound, the one who sang a mournful epithet for her father that day he stopped breathing. The memory passes like a pinprick, so far removed from her she wonders if it is truly her own or if she fabricated it long ago. She watches the exchange of glances between them with electric eyes, glowing fiercely under curling lashes. The amazon draws her posture tall, ears swiveling, like satellites having trouble picking up a signal. The golden woman's words pique her, and her annoyance bristles on anxiety. What right does she have to intrude on her musings? Her ears sow themselves into the dread-locked mess of hair upon her nape. Feathers ruffle, waking blue arcs of static to crackle 'tween the plumes like a soft hiss. They shuffle restlessly against her flanks, gravity suddenly making her body feel heavy. She peers up to the gaping blue sky, wondering covetously why in the world she is down here. There is vulnerability in her frustration; the indignant, landlocked bird, wanting nothing more than to fly away from the obligations of conversation with this stranger. "Thanks for the suggestion, but that sounds like a terrible waste of time," says the lightning maiden—not unkindly, mind you, but not overly kind, either—as she shakes out her tousled locks, her wakiya feather sparking harmlessly. Another voice causes her attentions to shift. Azulee sighs as she greets the other mare, nostrils quivering, but remembers her courtesies, dipping her nose a bit to the mare with a coal-grey coat. "Azulee, of Dragon's Throat—or, born there at least. Currently from no where in particular." The words give her heart a pained twist, charred lips doing much the same as they bend into a scowl. Azulee feels her gut burn with shame, the weight of it like hot stones in her belly. She must make herself worthy, she thinks with a woeful conviction; she is the fire-slayer's granddaughter and yet a voice in her heart whispers such discouraging things—of foolishness, of failure. Storm-painted shoulders give a curt shrug, dismissing such thoughts. I wouldn't be surprised if they talked back. More talk of trees. Azulee refrains from rolling her eyes, and shifts her weight from one hind hoof to the other. "Maybe you should ask them their opinion on the matter, settle it once and for all," she says with sarcasm lurking behind thinly-veiled humor, mustering a half-assed smile that her eyes do not mirror. They'll surely make better socialites than me. ooc ; grumpy az :x i've got your wild-eyed ways. |
@sikeax @syrena
hard mode—HP: 65/65
physical force and magic is permitted to be used on Azulee at any time provided it does not involve powerplay (unless specified otherwise); please contact me before attempting to kill.
please tag me!
