Nymeria

- the raven casts the longest shadow -

I think- Nymeria waits patiently even as her heartbeat quickens. Despite her rapidly growing curiosity, she is accommodating; if there was one adjective she would use to describe Isopia, it would be rational. This silence would no doubt lead to a suitable answer, one analytical and judicious in nature—and Nymeria would much prefer to wait for that then be delivered a chaotic rhetoric.

Oh.
And as soon as the realization struck Nymeria the Mountain that Knows became less of an enigma than before. In many ways she was still unknowable (almost occult) but surely her mechanical drone was simply a way of concealing emotion, much like how Nymeria falsified her happiness. Even if she went about concealing her nature differently—it was the same way of coping as Nymeria practiced herself. Just as Nym forced emotion she did not have into her words, Isopia took her emotion away.

I think- and Nymeria sighs, lowering her head just slightly. (I'm too familiar with thinking, she tells Lil absent-mindedly; he gives her no reply.)

I thought he wasn't the brightest. Nymeria stilled. Her ears flicked uncertainly, then swivelled to fixate on the sound of Isopia's voice. The honesty by which Isopia had offered an answered had been surprising; and yet, despite the callous nature of her words, Nymeria found herself not at all offended. Hadn't she often found Volterra the same? A warmonger too driven by his urges for battle, blood, and sex to give thought to the consequences of his actions? It feels disloyal of her—cruel of her—to agree with Isopia, even if she felt the same; Nymeria was supposed to be his sister at the end regardless of their personal quarrels.

Except some injuries leave scars behind.
They'd fought like hellions without regard for one another's safety. They had not offered one another respite or reprise; they'd gone at one another's throats like feral dogs fighting over a bone. What she'd say to him, what he'd said to her, were words that could not be taken back easily—even if they appeared trivial to the innocent bystander. It was strange to think that they were supposed to work together when they'd disagreed so often; stranger still to think they still had a chance together.

Nymeria allows her eyes to narrow, her lips to thin, but it is not out of anger at Isopia's candor so much as an expression of generalized frustration.

Her memories (bubbling up to the surface of her mind) are enthralling; she is fortunate she doesn't miss Isopia's admission. His magic comes from my father I think. The grullo blinks, her brows crawling upwards in surprise; her father? What kind of horse could bestow magic on a mortal (who would choose to bestow magic on my brother and not me?) The answer is not immediately forthcoming; she lets the comment pass from conscious to subconscious. She'd consider the riddle later.

Gold eyes shift downwards to meet her own red gaze.
They are a predator's eyes, but she does not flinch. Her instincts were mastered long ago; now she is ruled by only rational thought. Instead of immediately answering those final ominous words, Nymeria inclines her head in mute concurrence.

With a reciprocal trill, Lilómiel flees his perch on Isopia's back to follow Hubris' lead. He leaves Nymeria to watch alone as scales melt away into maroon flesh, as feathers bud and stretch from leathery wings, as claws turn to hooves and fangs to teeth. It is an unworldly process, a religious experience: Nymeria takes the time to savour it, honoured by the transformation. In the brief span of time it had taken to complete the transition from dragon to hybrid Isopia had been exposed, vulnerable—and yet she'd done it anyway.

Nymeria would take that as a good sign.

A small smile lifts her face, the sort of a smile that makes it clear that this is the real thing, and all others before it have been only counterfeit. "I often feel the same way," she confides. "My mother was a warmonger. She always thought we'd work together, be together—that I would be the brains to his brawn. Once she left... it became clear that this wouldn't be the case. I found his children, without a father, without guidance. When I confronted him—well, it was a disaster."

She glanced away, ears slanting back in shame. "He refuses to recognize his mistakes."