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ultima
“I’m going,” she said. It was that easy, and that hard.
Curled in in her withers, Snapdragon was quiet as if asleep, but his grip on their bond was reassuringly firm. He did not care that he was wet. He did not care that the Tilney, as he’d understood the Tilney to be called, had a mouse in its horns. All he cared about was the girl’s heart, wild as a flock of doves, wild as a storm waiting to burst; holding on tightly, his little claws pressed through the feathers and prickling her skin, he attempted to keep her steady. Baby steps, he seemed to say, their bond hung between them like two cups and a length of string. Because you must. Because you have already chosen.
Ultima, on the other end of the line, smiled tightly in reply.
The sky flashed and her eyes drifted upwards to meet the later thunder, expression transparent as a window is transparent. “It’s a very small herd. They have two Czarinas. One is … Ranjiri. The other they call Mountain,” she said, seemingly speaking more to the weather than to Tilney. Her voice was tired, now, light if only because of the effort it took to stay grounded. She wanted to talk about the Mountain with the same awe she felt for the wind, but a switch had been flipped. She had flipped it, and now she had all the qualities of salt. “The Mountain asked me to stay on.” In the wounds. “As a Medic.” In tears she didn’t have, that she was not allowed to shed.
And why should they be shed? She thought suddenly that it shouldn’t be sad, why should it be sad, a desperate idea that she latched onto out of some distant understanding that this – the rain, the thunder, the canopy fluttering above them – was an ending. Snapdragon’s ears twitched at the shift in her thoughts, and tugged gently, encouragingly. Ends are beginnings, too, they agreed, and smiling softly, Ultima at last met Tilney’s eye.
“It’s wonderful, isn’t it?” (Please say yes.)
“They’re all very kind, and the Earth God loves them well. I want to start a garden there, like ours, and with a greenhouse, too,” she said, her smile more genuine now. The wind picked up, the tassels on her bridle chiming and glinting as they swayed. “You’ll have to come see it once it’s finished.” (Please.)
“You and Maude, and Arah, too.” (Say yes.)
Curled in in her withers, Snapdragon was quiet as if asleep, but his grip on their bond was reassuringly firm. He did not care that he was wet. He did not care that the Tilney, as he’d understood the Tilney to be called, had a mouse in its horns. All he cared about was the girl’s heart, wild as a flock of doves, wild as a storm waiting to burst; holding on tightly, his little claws pressed through the feathers and prickling her skin, he attempted to keep her steady. Baby steps, he seemed to say, their bond hung between them like two cups and a length of string. Because you must. Because you have already chosen.
Ultima, on the other end of the line, smiled tightly in reply.
The sky flashed and her eyes drifted upwards to meet the later thunder, expression transparent as a window is transparent. “It’s a very small herd. They have two Czarinas. One is … Ranjiri. The other they call Mountain,” she said, seemingly speaking more to the weather than to Tilney. Her voice was tired, now, light if only because of the effort it took to stay grounded. She wanted to talk about the Mountain with the same awe she felt for the wind, but a switch had been flipped. She had flipped it, and now she had all the qualities of salt. “The Mountain asked me to stay on.” In the wounds. “As a Medic.” In tears she didn’t have, that she was not allowed to shed.
And why should they be shed? She thought suddenly that it shouldn’t be sad, why should it be sad, a desperate idea that she latched onto out of some distant understanding that this – the rain, the thunder, the canopy fluttering above them – was an ending. Snapdragon’s ears twitched at the shift in her thoughts, and tugged gently, encouragingly. Ends are beginnings, too, they agreed, and smiling softly, Ultima at last met Tilney’s eye.
“It’s wonderful, isn’t it?” (Please say yes.)
“They’re all very kind, and the Earth God loves them well. I want to start a garden there, like ours, and with a greenhouse, too,” she said, her smile more genuine now. The wind picked up, the tassels on her bridle chiming and glinting as they swayed. “You’ll have to come see it once it’s finished.” (Please.)
“You and Maude, and Arah, too.” (Say yes.)
command me to be well.
@tilney god
 | please tag ultima in all posts! force/magic a-ok, shy of killing/maiming her! |
