macaria

palest shadow; darkest light

When he finally stops she leans into him, as natural and warm as a cozy fur blanket, her amber eyes sliding shut with relief. The boom of her Father's voice grabs her attention seconds later and she softly launches from leaning her small amount of weight on his hip to step in front of him a few feet. “It's beautiful, Daddy.” She doesn't ever remember being here, but then again she hardly remembers much...flashes of memory dance through her dreams or the wanderings of her mind when her surroundings are still. The Mother she often speaks to, the ghost she hopes to feel, isn't even amongst her memories...though she can see her in her brothers, she can even see her when her Father's golden eyes settle lovingly on her steely dappled frame, or on the tenderness of her face.

Suddenly a hound bursts from beyond where Macaria was idly searching for her brothers – she gasps and leaps back behind her Father's frame, watching Loretta bound with blood-lust for the charging beast. Her skin crackles and sparks, her magic involuntarily lighting up the surface of her pale coat. It fades as quickly as it begins and she is left breathing fast and hard, her leonine tail flicking and twisting anxiously. The yearling peers awkwardly from behind as Archibald settles the atmosphere, the hellhound is bonded to a child with bright two-tone eyes. Macaria's mouse-gray lips curl delightedly, smiling at the other filly. Macaria is larger, knobbier, much more like a bag of rocks put into a silky gray sack. She will grow into her large joints, her big feet and her thick limbs, but for now she looks like a great dane puppy. Though she doesn't seem it, she is extremely graceful despite her disproportions, placing each step tentatively, calculating each move.

She is dwarfed beside the sturdy, battle-built frame of the Dauntless. In his shade she feels untouchable, sheltered beneath his strength. Princess, she lets the title bounce around in her head, Where are you Mother? She looks up toward the sky, plumes of cotton clouds drifting away to show the bright blue. Nevermind. I know where you are. You are gone. Her mind grimaces but her face remains tilted to the skies blankly before coming back down to search the ground for answers. Better question, where are my brothers? She looked to her father, wordlessly asking where they might be, scrunching her face at him. She knows he will know exactly what she means. She looks back to the other filly, smiling some more when Archibald introduces her, “Hello!” Her voice is soft yet sharp, untrained and high pitched. She stands ready for play or exploration, but her peripherals keep watch for Abraham and Reginald.