I was never comfortable talking to those of higher rank than I; I felt as though they judged my every move, as though my life balanced precariously on the end of a thread, held in their teeth. Throughout my life, I had been regarded with mistrust at the very least, and suspicion at the worst - I had not cause to think that the DragonHeart would be any different. Still, I had to speak with her - if I desired entrance into the herd, if I wanted to be by Thor's side, I would have to. And that was what I wanted - wasn't it?

There was a strange magic about her, and I mean that in the most literal way possible. For a brief moment, the ebon mare's entire shape melted away, shifting and churning into a blur. I closed my eyes. Headaches are a danger for me, threatening to bring on an episode of madness. I tend to avoid them. When my plain chocolate orbs opened again, there she was, whole and unmoving, watching me with eyes that were not unkind. But then, perhaps she was only a particularly clever actress, waiting for me to make a mistake before sending me on my way.

"My name is Tamira," I told her, my voice still shy, withdrawn. I was nervous, but I hoped she wouldn't see. Suddenly I realized that I hadn't a clue where to start; would I have to tell her about my affliction? Or could I stumble around it? After all, I didn't even know how to describe it. Thor would have known, but I didn't. "I... well, I was - am - a member of the Dragon's Throat, you see, but I was rather hoping that I might be allowed to join your herd instead?" My voice was anxious, lifting at the end into a question.

I was almost sure that she would question my motives - after all, I must have seemed quite shady, barging so deeply into her territory, asking for acceptance. I simply hadn't thought about it the night before, so deeply rooted was my terror at the impending blackout. Nor had I thought to backtrack in the morning, approach from a border, wait for a guard. Stupid, I told myself, watching the fae's bonded - a golden dragon - with interest. I had never seem the like, and it was quite the distraction from my incoherent thoughts. Sun gleamed off the scales, blinding me if it hit at the right angles, but still I watched, almost entranced, though my auds remained pricked toward Mirage.


"talk"

If love is surrender, then whose war is it anyway?