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05-07-2017, 06:24 PM
Through the wind, the storm, the pelting hail and ice, she looked only to her wounded, tending them as much as she could – defiant to the last, an echo of the mountains at their finest, ready to go into battle at their worst. But they seemed well enough, capable of carrying on amidst the onslaught, and perhaps that was all she could do for now, render them as another part of the summits and valleys, where the strongest prevailed and the weakest disappeared; already initiated by their newfound home. “Please let me know if you need anything else,” she uttered into the chill, into the ground, into the rain and torrent, only nodding towards the King at his thanks for her arrival, eyes glancing from one wounded bird to the other, intending to stir up her songs over and over again if they required her aid. Only thereafter did she relinquish herself to the commands of their superiors bellowing across the tirade, turning to stare into the tempest as if she’d seen it all before, had been part of the sculpting, of the weaving, of the sketching of the gales, and knew it too would come to pass. She sidled closer to Roland, a small smile touching the corner of her lips, intending to match his motions stride for stride, behind the ailing others, providing care and restoration in gentle hums and beatific whims should their strides falter, should their limbs ache, should their wounds reopen from her careful, time-honored stitching. They’d all carry on again, potent forces, pledged, fortified beasts, digging deep into their souls, and coming out on the other side with resolution and determination forged into their essence – the Songbird knew, understood, and comprehended the layers of mettle and grit between their bones, because all of the surrounding beings had it too, and Helovia had always taught them lessons in willpower, in valor, in might. Safety was on the horizon, and they would reach it on faith and hope and ambition; eternally sterner stuff, no tragedies marking the pages of the present. |
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