I L L Y N X
take a look in the mirror - see the truth in your faceThe little one hauls herself up from the water as the Lady commands her to do so, golden eyes watching the water drip with a mother’s distaste for such unruly and ignorant behavior. She supposes, though, that these are things learned through experience – and as the first gentle wind sweeps in and filters cold, cold air across her skin, she knows it won’t take long for the little filly to understand why Illynx chides her so.

What she asks, though, draws the woman’s ears back in surprise and her brows heighten, a small guffaw of laughter breaking her lips in retort as she wipes her awe from her mask and replaces it with a smile that knows better. Death was surely a less desirable option to life.

"There is nothing in death," she answers resolutely, "your soul goes and your body rots in the mundus. It serves no one well to be dead, especially yourself."

But her childish smile and the delicate prance of her legs steals away whatever annoyance was born of her foolish questions, and the Lady returns her innocent questions with a soft smile of her own and a patience that had not been so plentiful in the seasons before she’d foaled a bundle of inquiries herself. Children, she has learned, have more questions than is seemingly necessary, searching for truths in the world around them, digging for answers in the minds of their superiors, the adults who shepherded them.

"I was there when you were born," she replies, her voice velvet and rich in the chilly autumn air, her own dark plume swaying behind her ample rump, "I know your dam and your sire, and am Lady of this mountain." She wonders why it is that Sialia has not taught her the names of the figures the filly should most oblige, but she has met the dark mother of the girl often enough to know that she does not often cling to the structures that define Illynx’s own life; perhaps the lesson has just not come into play, or perhaps the mare wishes the girl to learn in her own time, in her own ways. Illynx does not know.

She does know that she had taught Rikyn quite early on whom to give respects to, if only to avoid embarrassing herself through his idiocy.

The conversation, however, takes a strange turn; the little girl asks a normal question that is followed by a not so normal song, and the smile on the lips of the Gilded Blade fades ever so slightly at the rise of its notes. Had the Frostheart not only saddled her with a fatherless child, but one who was mad?

Gods, she should have kicked his ass and broken his foal producing parts the last she saw him.

A pout frames her lips as she realizes the questions were born of her ragged appearance at the moment – which she hides, turning her features to tug at some of the needles that cling to her dark locks and spitting them out on the grasses at her hooves while the little one trots and prances in her insane little circle.

"We’re having a party come the end of the season for our God," she explains, gesturing half heartedly towards the cavern which holds the mirror, not far down the shore, "food for such events is plentiful in the woods if one is willing to dive through brush to find it." A brow rises on her pretty face, curiosity getting the better of her, tugging her tongue to inquire more of little Glacia.

"A pretty song, darling," she says, an added flourish given to her grin that leaves her sparkling and beautiful, a perfect caricature of pride that conceals the worry flawlessly beneath, "did you invent it yourself?"

@[Glacia]

"rada rada"