The foam curled, the waves frothed, and safety felt swiftly slashed, dashed. The prickle of fear renewed, settled down her spine, punctured, pierced, lacerated along her bones, amidst her muscles, swam within her veins, and for all her bravery, all her steadfast courage, all her heartfelt exuberance and ebullience, the apprehension seared her flesh. They talked and conversed, and all she could see within the Pegasus’ eyes was disdain, derision, contempt, and the lithe nymph didn’t know what they’d done, what they’d said, to spark silent indignation. He spoke of danger without words, without speech, without diction, and anxiety dived deep into her mind, because somehow, someway, she’d caused this. The stranger’s words ground against her senses, clawed, tore, snapped, grated, From Basin? with so much anger, because they lived in an empire that sought violence, and the rest of the world combatted ferocity with their own brutal savagery, the endless, eternal struggle and cycle, villains to innocents, innocents to villains, rubble to ruin. She’d chosen to waltz upon the beach, along the shore, press her feet into the sand and court the flares, the embers, of treachery, yearned for power beyond her touch, beyond her capabilities, marched straight into antagonistic snare, dragged another with her – the once-composed gaze slid to the Thief, desperately attempted to convey the elements of peril. They narrowed, then widened, displayed essences of sagacity and wisdom she wished she’d possessed earlier, because even if she were doomed, damned, and condemned, the sylph certainly wouldn’t allow Roland to be. She opened her mouth in a soundless rhythm, a quiet gesture, a mute plea (lips parting in the solo command: run), strung, woven, laced towards his gilded frame; a nymph forged in sacrifice, granting, proffering, the gestures of immolation time and time again. Her body, her heart, would stay, frozen in menace, trapped in hazards, tripping and snagging jeopardies (then he could get away, escape) and she’d be left in the swarm, in the foolishness, of her own desires. The pitfall had opened up before her in in the wake, in the presence, of this monstrous titan, granting her the prudence she’d failed to understand before: you are worthless.

Time staggered, fumbled, toiled; she purposefully took segments and instances, junctures and moments, to give her Thief opportunity at liberation, to stare against the calm current, to wage war upon her own idiocy, to swallow and gasp and grate at her eventual answer to the draconic king. Another single demand filtered through her mind, towards her vigilant kitsune, eager, drumming in her mind for a chance to undo the frightening predicament, but with no means, no modes, no methods, instructing, urging, the ivory vixen to follow Roland. Without looking back down at the fox, without twisting one hopeful glance towards the golden brigand, she summoned her strength, her perseverance, her biting, twisting resolve, and stared back at the Pegasus. Her answer came as a blunt melody, a wondrous crescendo, a blissful carillon, as if all her pride, all her love, all her convictions for the herd that damned and saved so many, could be heard in the singular strain. “Yes.”

[@[Gaucho] @[Roland]
- For Sun God quest. ^_^]