.svg/2000px-Google_Chrome_icon_(2011).svg.png){kind=icon}
 |
|
Something was wrong. How she knew, she could not say, but her assumption was affirmed when Zikar-Sin was seen racing to the cave of the Haruspex. She frowned, pushing herself into a gallop, following. The very air seemed to press against her, and she shivered, remembering the dream of blackness, of darkness, of Mauja... She shook her head, feathers and teeth flying around her, banishing the memory from her mind. It was no use to ponder a silly dream - or was it a nightmare? It was weak, and foolish, and stupid. And she was none of those things. Zikar-Sin's voice rang from the cave, echoing to her lobes as she found her way to the entrance. "SIR!" he had shouted, and a blossom of worry crept into her breast. When she made her way into the cave, the young racist flicka and an older fae - Larkspur, wasn't it? - were already there, voicing her own question. What has happened? Stranger still, Myrddin knelt before the mirror, a crack running down its face, the tip of his horn touching the bubbling god's portal. She made her way through the small crowd, coming as close as she dared to the elder. The cold here was suffocating, and again she felt a panic at the pressure. The very air felt charged with - what? She couldn't say. It made her uneasy. It made her want to run. But she was the Lady of the Basin, and she could not do that. She stood, strong and sure, watching avidly, waiting. Surely this was a sign, surely something would come of this? Myrddin was no fool; in fact, the shadow-mare held him in high regard, a blessing bestowed to few. Still, he could not see - so how would he know what had happened here? Unless the god granted him a vision, or... something. She had no idea how it worked, this odd god-mortal connection. Still, it would do her no good to shout out useless questions like her subjects had done. To Sin, she gave what she hoped was a reassuring glance. After all, Myrddin was his mentor, and Sin had to be concerned. To the youngling and to Larkspur, she offered what she hoped were soothing words: "I am sure that if we are patient, Myrddin will offer his wisdom," her tones were neutral, and I added something akin to a motherly line for Frost Fyre: "Remember the griffons? You were patient then, and you saw what they had to give, no?" It was an oddity for the Dark Empress, to offer words of consolation, to offer a calming demeanor; but then, she would fare poorly if her herd fell to panic. There was an explanation for this. She was sure of it. [W/C | ---] |
|
Walk walk walk.
"Talk talk talk." Think think think. |
 |
![[Image: psycheicon.png]](http://i800.photobucket.com/albums/yy285/schwartze_asylum/psycheicon.png)
Please feel free to tag me in all replies!
Use of force and/or magic (with the exception of death) is allowed at all times.
