She smiled. Shyly to Calista, the healer she had never really exchanged words with before, happily to Glacia - the new girl who seemed likable enough and who greeted the dove so graciously. The quirk of her lips turned mischievous as she turned to Tembovu - the new King was right, they did bump into each other rather a lot.

"It's because I can be in three places at once, didn't you know!?" she jested with a cheeky jerk of the head, eyes glittering while alabaster curls bounced a merry dance around her face.

She would have said more, but even the words she did utter were half drowned by the bellow of a heartbroken man. His scream made her jump in place, not so much perhaps because he shouted after her but more because every syllable reminded her of some wounded animal, near death and terrified with the prospect that it might be saved. Erthë spun on her heels and winced as her weak leg protested, wobbled in place and actually retreated a few step as she was faced with the frosthearted Queen.

It was quite the impressive display he offered. She might have been wholeheartedly impressed, if it hadn't been for the load of bull he delivered. Slowly the eyes of the dove turned cold, hard, glittering gems of tourmaline and quartz that took little pity in the cries of this wounded beast.

So, he was bleeding. He had lost someone and grieved them. And? She had lost someone too. That didn't mean she stood skulking in the underbrush while her father kept on living. That didn't mean she had a right to push her own sorrow, pain, guilt and loneliness onto others. Being sad didn't give you the right to scream at people. Or to abandon those who still loved you.

Mauja turned and ran, and Erthë watched him go with her mouth drawn into a line, thin with disapproval.

"I didn't think you weak at all, until just now" she called after him, ice lacing every syllable, "and the only one who faults you for it is you."  

But he was gone and her words were swallowed up by the forest, blown away on a cold wind. Snorting, ruffled feathers rising and falling along her shoulders in bristling agitation, the vicious little dove turned her attention to Glacia, the daughter who didn't even get the benefit of her father's trust - the daughter he, without hardly knowing her, had declared to be better off without a father.

What would any father know of a daughters needs? How presumptuous of him to assume it was his strength she needed, rather than his tears, his laughter, his beating red heart or whatever warmth remained in those frost-rimmed veins of his.

How selfish he was, to rob Glacia of the chance to be stronger than him.

"I'm sorry" she said, voice lowering until it was barely more than a whisper. "I should have let you shout at him..."

Erthë

the      night      is      calling      my      name