The strange one stays silent while my sister of the skies is vibrant as her pelt. A glance given to the strange horned beast that has wandered into our company accompanies a thought as to whether or not she is properly trained and knows to keep her mouth shut when faced with two greater beings – but the same thought is dark with the undulations of the bell, and the brighter part of my soul that flounders and drowns in the obliqueness of my blood cries out that I am being unkind.

I know it. I cannot stop it. I have never been stronger than what mother did to me, no matter how I’ve tried; at each point in my life that a challenge arises, a tall wall that my wings should easily carry me over, I crash downwards without grace, I fall into old ways that I know in my heart to be wrong but that my soul cannot overcome.

The cat upon the flamboyant bird’s spine perks up at my words as if I have said something of great interest, but I am not sure what that could be; historically, Dog is not meant to be friends with the sleek black animal along her back, a hostile juxtaposition of two predators on each others turf. It never ceases to amaze me how these ingrained patterns of nature are so easily discarded when among the company of those of our blood, that companions can let loose old hatreds for long enough to stand among one another, if not even get along and become friends.

To watch dragons at play with hounds and griffons in sky dance with aurous birds of starlight and flame was a most beautiful thing for a soul as bleak as my own. Such hope is uncommon in Elysia, perhaps the reason that such bonds of the spirit were uncommon in the land of my birth – it defied every law by which the women of the land ruled and kept structure.

The brusque woman shakes herself of the water, spraying droplets all about her that splatter and fleck dark patches along my pelt and make Dog whine audibly as she slips behind me to avoid the body born rain. In jilted emotions within the animal are quickly quieted as attention is turned to her, a broad mouthed and smiling face appearing from around my haunches with a madly swinging tail.

I don’t think she has any control over the thing at all.

”Nope,” her voice cheerfully chimes in within my thoughts, startling me partially and drawing my pulled wings even tighter to my body for a fleeting second.

It will take some time getting used to this sharing of thoughts and opinions among one another, of having my own mental ruminations scattered by her idiotic side notes. I can only imagine what will flood me the next time she spies a rabbit or ground bird she thinks she can catch – the way her body wiggled before she could speak to me was a good indication that the wave of enthusiasm spewing from her would likely give me a headache that would last for hours.

A deep blue muzzle extends to me, and while I am surprised by the show of communion, I return it, perhaps with more hesitance than most would. She is, after all, a stranger to me – but her strength and her beauty are prevalent, much welcome omens of good blood yet to be found among the living who had found solace outside the wicked boundaries of my homeland. This one – Bellona, as she introduces herself – is a woman that would seamlessly enter into the highest of ranks in Elysian military (assuming this was the path that she took), her fortitude and appearance outstanding in comparison to some of the droll and ordinary winged things that have crossed my path in this land of Helovia. Even Quilyan, with all his elegant words and his mind full of wisdom, could not compare to the visual splendor that this one provided, he himself ordinary and plain with a painted pelt of copper and ivory.

Bellona had been painted by the Gods.

"Near a year now," I respond, my guesses that the mare is of warrior heritage confirmed in her defense of the land (though it only reads in her words, such a gallant bird kind in disposition for her ranking), "I followed the Stoner to the coven of Seele during her reign in the Deep Forest during the season of red leaves, and Seele to here when the Lord of Earth called her to his realm."

That I still don’t know the man who led me to my home for the past year by name is not a fact that bothers me. He was unworthy of remembering, a wasted life and a body withering from the poisons he forced on himself. A woman such as myself, condemned to suffer from biological curses as I have been for much of my eleven years, cannot understand a being who kills himself for fun, for a high.

The Stoner is a fool, and Skýlos and I will outlive him.

Another demanding question falls from the mare, and where such a response in an earthbound creature would draw aggression from within my broken soul, from her it earns a smile. So much like my darling Brighid, so much like Hemera before the madness consumed her and her flames burned all she touched.

So unbroken and whole, and she cannot know how blessed she is, how intensely my heart yearns to know and feel and experience the world as she can, with her own thoughts and strength to guide her.

"Hm, Genetrix," I say, a momentary pause taken to recall the unique word (is it Latin? I only read those scrolls once, perhaps twice…), "gatherer of tales and knowledge." My tail curls lazily and with content around my haunches, another glance spared the quiet mare with the horned shoulders now that I can bare to look at her, my soul so full of hope as I talk with a sky sister unshackled and free. "You are a polemistí̱s?" I ask, blue eyes more eager than they have been in so long, seeking in my mind the English word for the Greek that has replaced the proper term for the hen’s ears, "a warrior? You express the strength and confidence for such a ranking."

@[Kirah]
[ OOC: Sorry for the slowness. D: ]


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