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06-12-2017, 10:58 AM
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R I K Y N & D U I R
She is called Vahana, which makes me think of the place my uncle Torleik had spoken of, the Northland’s version of the Star Realm: Heaven, an Eternity Thereafter. Duir’s ears slant slightly back at her surprise, having forgotten in his haste to make friends that many arrivals to the Basin have never seen anything quite like him, or the other creatures which had formed bonds with the herd members, but keeps his most friendly expression on regardless. With age, his demeanor and face grows more and more noble (like the wild deer and elk his form mimics), but the essence of the fawn he was still lingers in his youthful expressions. "It is good to meet you, Vahana," I tell her, with a nod, and a smile that disguises the tumultuous maelstrom that writhes beneath the mantles I had always deigned I would never wear. The likelihood her name is so related to this small piece of my forefather’s pasts is minimal, but the memories of my Uncle and Father which rises to mind are as sharp as those which are inspired by her question as to what has become of the Sentinels. I try my best to remain neutral, but it is likely obvious that the topic is painful, the reality of what I say too new, too unbearably fresh, and speaking of it is like a salt laden rain. "He is dead, and cannot tend to them any longer," I answer, because I would rather remember him as someone who had served this place, than the man who had left, to follow a kinsman who, shortly thereafter, too, had seemed to have left Helovia entirely, for all that any had seen or heard of him. It pains me to remember the piled stones and the shallow grave, or the blood pooled on the dark earth beneath he and Kirchoff, but it hurts more to think of him walking away, leaving me in that second autumn of my life, to come home, to be all but alone. "They functioned on magic, which is no more. And as far as I know, he is the only one who could upkeep them, but perhaps the God of the Spark himself." I am glad for the arrival of Glacia and Gwyn, and I look towards the pretty woman who has filled my memories for as long as I have them, and the child we have made together, with a softening of my hardened exterior. The metallic walls that I have thrust upwards to meet the challenge of the topic at hoof are lowered, to allow my gaze to be gentle as it meets the matching eyes of the girls who have, somehow, begun to worm their way into my heart, despite my best attempts to remain aloof from others. Breaking my gaze from their perfection when Wessex speaks, I smirk, and add on to her broached topic of the additional herd lands, as well as the necessity of a cave. The tenderness which had bloomed in me at the arrival of my own family, not just the one I was dealt by fate, dead or vanished by now, is stowed back away under by version of Lordliness. "The Healers and Crafters have rather large caverns for storage and work – they should suffice as a temporary place to crash until you find somewhere you like," I say, adding in with a sly glance at the Haruspex (we’d all heard the Time God, after all), "guess Wessex could let you bunk with her and the Mirror, too." this is not destruction this is your birth — |
@Glacia
