Ophelia listened to the mare, her curiosity ever rising. Why did the buckskin fight if she did not swear loyalty to Jackal? The name brought back memories of being a child. Long ago, in a time that seemed so distant to her heart but so close in her mind, she, Ktulu, and Jackal had met on the beach. She remember the melancholy loneliness that had seemed to shake his core, and she vividly remember him walking away from her when she had approached to help. The memory still stung as it did when she was a child, and she realized through reexamination that perhaps that was an integral moment in her childhood. That moment may have been when she learned to wall herself from others, to hide her compassion.
The alabaster princess furrowed her brows and stared into the magenta orbs more deeply with her dual colored once, as if she could pry the answers from her mind. Though... Ophelia could, but she would prefer to learn from those she respected through talk rather than... rape. Truly, her power was mental rape. She took without asking, forced her way into a private place and read what was not hers to read. Useful, but afterwards, having someone else's memories permanently in your own mind was aching.
She tilted her weight onto a back hip, no longer threatened since negotiation was being handled so beautifully. Why did they not relinquish the Foothills when she had offered them the opportunity? What did they gain? No leader stood among them now to offer heartbroken condolences and promises of a brighter future; they were entirely alone, broken. "Why did you fight then, if not for Jackal? You fought for the land?" Ophelia did not feel for the land itself what her father and others seemed to hold in their hearts. She felt alive in the north where the falling snow and the crisp wind lifted her soul to the highest. The herdlands were just that - herdlands. Since they were protected by the gods, they offered benefits and safety that the wilds could not.
But the land was just that. The mountains shift, the rivers rise and fall, and the grasses die and are reborn. Nothing is constant. The disconnect between feeling tied to territory and Ophelia's heart was clear. She was a wanderer at heart, never belonging. Even her birthright seemed to express that she was resting on a line of halves, never entirely whole.
"You are welcome to join the Grey, Ailith, as a warrio - I hope?" she asked with a small, hesitant smile. "Should you realize that my family is not suited for your desires, you are welcome to leave; I only ask that if you do that you keep our secrets." Ophelia nodded her head back over her shoulder to where the band was regrouping. "Come, meet everyone."
[OOC: I will change Ailith's rank now! ]
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