Nymeria

- the raven casts the longest shadow -

The Mountain that Knows.
Nymeria blinked in careful understanding, inclining her head just slightly. The legend title had obvious origins and was an eloquent expression of Isopia's nature. Nymeria wondered if she would ever have a name like that, and if she did, what it would say about her. Many leaders, she had noticed, had them: the Dauntless, the Aurelight, the Amaranthine... maybe the acquisition of a crown lent a certain fame to its wearer.

(One day she would know for a fact.)
And that day—she could feel it drawing nearer. When winter at least melted away from the land, when the sun reached its peak and the bones of the earth were warm and hot, then she would make her final move. All she had to do now was make the final calculations, replace the 'x' and 'y' variables with loyalists and friends and all the horses without purpose.

(Would this dragon would be one of them? She doubted it—she thought that the dragon had her own motives.)

Nymeria's scrutiny was relentless. As Isopia's lids shuttered across gold irises, the wolf leaned forward, drawn towards the answer. She thought she knew the truth, because tükör arca's pause was as incriminating as a 'no' would've been, but the answering of one question only led to others. Tükör arca's answer was painfully graceful in nature, devoid of emotion and bevelled off like a captive elephant's tusks, polite and empty and indecipherable: Nymeria thought, with a brief and splitting edge of annoyance, that her duty would be so much easier if Isopia was normal... if Isopia was... less like her and more like everyone else.

The two of them had perfect and impeccable composure. One would think that made everything easier. Instead, everything was more difficult. They were eerie reflections, and Nymeria wanted to know exactly how deep those similarities ran.

With her frustration growing, it would've been easy to admit defeat then and channel forth her annoyance and irritation, unleash the emotions dammed up behind her teeth and demand answers. She knew what she would ask about: the dragon's ambitions, desires, history—and yet she stayed her tongue. Where she was now—with burgeoning circles of friends, tentatively growing relationships—was because of her caution and (undoubtedly) her lies. So instead she gave herself a moment to breathe and studied the dragon's gilded scales carefully.

Her thoughts scrolled back through a mire of convoluted plans, back to Kid and back to his ruinous truth.

Were they involved?
... How well had tükör arca known her brother?

It was Nymeria's turn to move the chesspiece.
(Would it be a check or a mate?)

"You met him more than once then." Her words are chosen carefully. They are accompanied by a paltry and sad smile. "What did you think of my brother?"