A day will dawn and a time will come

A day will dawn and a time will come - any

Yael Posts: 186

World's Edge Seer atk: 7.5 | def: 11 | dam: 2.5

Mare :: Pegasus :: 14.2 :: 39 - appears 8 HP: 63.5 | Buff: NOVICE

Zani :: Serval :: None Astor

10-31-2016, 11:15 AM

YAEL
love is a many splendored thing, love lifts us up where we belong

”Hello?” The voice is soft, tremulous and child-like. Yael pauses mid-sip, because something is telling her that this situation is not right. In the quiet moments that stretch between the filly’s greeting and her question, the golden woman’s mind races a mile a minute. The foggy headache scatters to the wind out of necessity as she forces herself to analyze why it feels like every tiny, thin hair on her spine is standing on end. A child is not scary. She loves children, she would willingly lay down her own life for her sons and daughters if need be. Ima. Savta. Yael cherishes those monikers and the way they slip so sweetly from her family’s lips.

So no, it is not the girl herself, even as she tentatively steps closer to the winged mare. It is… it is… the lack of children that is so very, very wrong. Days before the Raid, they’d conceived a pair of twins; Yael felt the moment of conception, the sparks of life as they began to form together in her womb. Their mind-voices were faint, but she tenderly caressed them at night, and after the battle she soothed their worries about all the jostling and the shifting. OH. They’d had names! Tariq. Tzion. After her own home. One who comes in the night - and in the night he’d fled, and taken his sister with him. Now her own eyes burn hot, the flush extending to her cheeks and though she is loathe to cry in front a child, the tears are unstoppable.

Salty drops join the stream and tumble away from her as a pair of miniature cloven hooves come into view. Matching damp trails streak from the corners of warm brown eyes, to the edges of her cheeks. The blood pounds in her ears. Yael reaches - strains - pushes outward with all her might, and still, cannot reach the mind of the girl before her. Oh god. Oh god Oh godohgod. Those selfsame eyes do not focus on the pretty little face of the antlered, doe-eyed filly before her, but dart around in horror and confusion - unfocused, wide-eyed and wet.

”Are you new here?”

Here. Here? Jerking back to the speaking native in front of her, Yael’s eyes focus, though her breathing is comparatively shallow. Here? Here is unknown. “Shalom,” she whispers out of habit. There is a look of anguish in the depth and intensity of her gaze, a desperation only found in someone hanging off a ledge by their fingertips. “Please,” she continues after a brief pause, entreating the girl to answer her the right way. “Vhere ees xere?” Because she cannot tell, and her magic is gone. If Yael is still in B’kanna, she might be able to somehow - somehow- fix it all. And if she is not... then all hope of redemption, all family, everything she has ever fought for is lost.

It is an enormity she cannot yet fathom.

all we need is love

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Force and magic allowed, no death please

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