yael

For all intents and purposes, the spotted stallion ought to be Dead; one does not naturally linger long enough in water to become slimy, to become a floating corpse which still breathes. She does not know what saved him (aside from the three at the Marsh’s edge), but the once-immortal Seer has a hunch that needs to be followed up on.

Distress lingers everywhere. Some panic, some steel themselves with resolve, others turn to vices, actions they may not otherwise engage in, just to feel like their lives are worth something. Yael finds it puzzling. While she may have unwittingly helped usher in the apocalypse, she finds the rage and anger and despair all funnelled into a very unuseful place. But perhaps you have to have gone through an ‘end of the world’ type of event before one can look at the next with more objective eyes. And these eyes are worried; Amaris’s reaction (she cares about the dragon-woman very much) makes her try to keep an eye on the mare, a silent sort of golden shadow, saying nothing and watching all.

The pair stand on the edge of the cliffs, in a place most familiar to the Seer - she, too, had once contemplated throwing herself off the rocks and curling her wings tightly around her body until it crashed into the rocky surf below. Reksana had been her guardian angel, then, and perhaps someday she might return the favor. Maybe not here, maybe not in the near future - but one day. Zani dozes, a familiar weight between her shoulder blades, while she walks towards the pair on slender legs and dainty hooves. Surely the sound of them on the rocks will herald her approach, but if not, she greets the two with a low whicker.

Large ears pick out the faintest whisper of Amaris’s response, and she sighs. “Perxaps.”  If so, is it the worst thing that can happen? They’ll join their dear ones - somewhere - if there is an afterlife. If not, life will go on, and it may change for better or worse, but why shed tears while you still draw breath? Her gaze turns to the spotted stallion, noting his pale form in the mist, and how it seems better than before, but not quite up to par. “Eet ees good to see you up and about, Mauja.” Her gaze then flickers between the two, murmuring to no one in particular, and both, at the same time. “I xope you xaven’t geeven up already.”

That would be suicide.