How long had she been running now? She could not remember. Seeing her son, handsome, proud and alive has been too much to handle. The once young colt who had been ripped from her side at birth was now a fighter for justice, but what justice existed in this world? He would drive himself into the ground trying to please the masses with the wonderful opiate: "peace". Peace was a horrible and bitter lie, fraught with wickedness and cruelty; it was unattainable. To want it was to condemn yourself to a hellish life of reaching for a star that would always just be out of your grasp, and she was smart enough to not fall into a pit of self-loathing and masochism. However, chasing after the opposite was just as foolish.
Tammenia knew she was nothing special. Because her coat was achromatic and did not sport the bloody crimson of Riekahn's line or any other color for that matter, she was a commoner. When she carried Paladin, she had been far too young and in a love struck craze that she now remembered bitterly. The Crimson King had been a charming bastard up until the point when he knew he had her in his grasp, and she was too stupidly loyal and wrapped up in false emotions to try and leave. Not until he started the wars. The day he plunged their people into the first bloody battle of feathers and horns, she had tried to escape, but all she earned was a swift kick in the chest. On cold days, she could still feel the ache of the damaged bones. Breathing had not been easy for many suns, especially not while in foal.
Isilme had almost been a dream. She stumbled upon the dawning of a new world before any had made footing there, and she had stood on the Tides with three other unicorns who were now just a distant memory. Unbeknownst to her, Paladin had taken the Tides. Tammenia had not named the child. She did not know that Paladin was her son, not until now. And, she had vanished into the gaping hole of apathy with a medic named Ruske. He had helped her recover from herself, inviting her into the Woodlands where she made her new home, or at least, she was not forced out. The Sect had called to her then, and she apathetically followed.
As a unicorn among equines and the feathered, she was royalty; as a unicorn among unicorns, she was nothing special. Tammenia did not hold the unique features of her herd with bright color or rich magic. She was average. Without magic, chocolate eyes, small stature, and white with black points made her a commoner, and she accepted her position with all the grace and behavior of a lady.
Now, she picked her way through soft grass, the sky above bright and blue. The gaping hole in her chest seemed to swallow the brightness and drown it in misery. Black hooves moved with natural grace, though her posture was far from confident; she moved as one who would rather go unseen, unassuming but delicate. Thick, black forelock hung down her chiseled face, mane hanging in helpless knots, and her tail swung listlessly behind. Keen eyes looked out for any who might be watching, ever aware of her surroundings.
[For Deimos and d'Art]
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War is Never Cheap Here [Deimos/d'Art]
