.svg/2000px-Google_Chrome_icon_(2011).svg.png){kind=icon}
10-20-2016, 01:00 AM
AISLING
my friend makes rings, she swirls and sings
she’s a mystic in the sense that she’s still mystified by things
my friend makes rings, she swirls and sings
she’s a mystic in the sense that she’s still mystified by things
The festival it seems, had been a success, and Aisling's own contribution had been well-received by most who'd come (that bearded stallion could take his poor manners and shove them in a great many dark and awful places as far as she was concerned). It had been entertaining to entertain she’d discovered, and though her predictions were not rooted in true precognition, she mused that it would be interesting to follow up and see if any happened to come true as time unfolded itself in the years ahead.
Still, concern weighed heavily on Aisling's heart as she had released her circle and extinguished her fires. She had said her goodbyes, had seen the Lady of the Basin there too, as the herd had bid farewell to its guests, but the pink form had been lost in the crowd then, retreated before Aisling could reach out to her. That imitate disappearance had heightened the little enchantress’ sense of urgency and so had not even taken the time to wash the blue paint from her skin before beginning her pursuit.
Hotaru had looked so very lost when she had come to the fortune telling circle, so uncertain and so in need as she had asked for a glimpse of the future that the encounter had left Aisling quite baffled. The pink lady, in the few interactions they had shared, had always seemed collected, confident, in control; perhaps it had been their short acquaintance, or the gap of leader to led that had caused Aisling to expect a certain level of formality between them. Hotaru had broken that formality, shifted in to a mysterious sorry of intimacy in the span on moments when she came to Aisling as a supplicant. Unlike the other fortunes she had given, Hotaru’s had been spoken only for the lady’s ears, and it had not been prophecy so much as a promise. Hotaru had given Aisling a home, however indirectly, but without any doubt, the mare had also given her an occupation and a purpose. Aisling would go to great lengths to pay such a debt, would give her loyalty for it, and now she gave her compassion as well.
The little mare had followed, asking a series of "have you seen..."'s in order to pick of the trail or the Valkyrie's retreat northeast toward the Frostbreath Steppe. With a newly hatched Sorcha (who had been tucked away napping during most of the festival) perched lightly on her withers, Aisling had made to track the Lead's movements. If Hotaru was in trouble it boded ill, for the herd surely, but Aisling would not have left any of the herd to face their personal battles alone either; these people were quickly becoming her family, and Aisling loved and supported her family to the stars and back.
When a mighty storm rose, fear stabbed into Aisling's heart but she was a valiant lass down at the deepest core or her even if that part had oft' been hidden by inexperience or overridden by childish fancy. She surged forward over the snow-dusted Steppe, desperate to find Hotaru and found the pink mare just beyond the next rise. Though the twisters raged, tearing apart the land and blowing snow like a lizard around the land with the residual winds that stretched beyond the main columns, Hotaru stood like a statue in their midst. She was bleeding, lattice cuts crossing her body and dripping in garish red, Aisling almost screamed terror. Was this her doing? Was this raging tempest a reflection of whatever tortured The Valkyrie? "Sorcha, hold tight!" the little mare ordered, and then surged forward into the storm.
Poor little Sorcha quaked but clung madly to the thick braid the hugged her bonded’s neck; the little dragon was no bigger in body than a large squirrel (though considerably longer) and the raging winds pulled fiercely, trying to tear her her perch. "Hold on!" Aisling begged of her as she ran, dodging flying debris as she struggled to reach Hotaru. Sharp shards of ice struck the little mare but were merciful to the dragon, and by the lime she was just yards behind the other mare, Aisling had a bleeding lip and red scratches arrayed across her body though they were nothing compared to Hotaru’s cuts. "My Lady!" she shouted above the roaring winds, desperate to pull her from the grip of this power. She could see now that the mare was crying and her tender heart ached for her even in the grip of fear. "Hotaru, please—"
pffft what are timelines, Sorcha is definitely born >.>
[now come the days of the dreamer and they are filled with wonder and light ]
:: permission given for use of magic and force :: please tag Aisling in all posts ::
